


All the Sky You Need

by wesleysgirl



Category: Angel: the Series, Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel/Spike in the Firefly 'verse, where there is much sexin' going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Sky You Need

  


The little one -- Kaylee, who kind of reminds Angel of someone he knew before, even though it's been so many years that her name is long lost -- leads them onto the ship. Spike's at his heels, keeping behind him, letting him do the talking for them both. It was an agreement that will cost Angel dearly the next few nights, but he'd have promised anything in exchange for Spike's silence now, when they need to get off this godforsaken planet so badly.

"Cap'n? This is Liam, and that there's Will." Kaylee nods and the captain, a tall, solid looking man, nods too. "And this here's our Captain." She says it proudly.

"Mal Reynolds," the captain says, tucking his thumbs into his waistband and not offering to shake hands, which is fine with Angel. Then, without saying anything else, he starts to turn away.

"They aren't right," a voice says, wispy and ethereal. The voice, Angel discovers, belongs to a girl who's peering at them around a pile of crates, the one eye that Angel can see wide and worried.

Spike steps away from Angel, toward the girl. "What's your name, pet?"

It's too late to stop the conversation from happening, so Angel doesn't try. "River," the girl says. Her hair is a long dark tangle. If she weren't so innocent, she'd look like Drusilla. Come to think of it, Dru was innocent once, too.

"You aren't right," River continues. "You don't belong here."

"Don't belong anywhere," Spike says. Angel is painfully aware of Mal Reynold's attention on them. "What about you, then? You belong here?"

River shakes her head, her fingers curled gently around the edge of a crate. "I don't belong anywhere either," she says.

"River?" There's a young man at the doorway to the hold.

"I'm coming, Simon," the girl says, turning toward him.

"Trouble, that one," Spike says under his breath to Angel, and Angel nods. He knows trouble when he sees it, too.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Something not right about this ship and its crew -- Spike knows that as soon as they set foot on board. It's not just the girl, River. There's a courtesan, her hair long and tangled with careful artistry, the dark strands scented with incense; she's clever, that one. And River's brother, a doctor. They need to keep away from him, too.

Spike's memory's not as good as it used to be; he forgets things. It started after the accident on Persephone. All right, it hadn't been so much an accident as an attack, and one that shouldn't have come as a surprise. Not that he can remember any of it. Hadn't woken up for weeks, what with his skull broken in a dozen places, bits of bone shoved so deep into his brain it still hasn't healed up right. It's getting better, though, all the time, and he's got Angel to watch his back until the headaches stop.

They don't sleep in the same room on Serenity, for the first time in almost a year. But the bunks are almost too narrow for one bloke, let alone two, and Spike tells himself it's not like he _needs_ to be watched over night and day.

He and Angel keep to themselves for the most part. Angel reads, mostly, then Spike annoys him until Angel gives him that look, the one that says _I'm gonna fuck you just to shut you up_ , and does, muffling Spike's groans with a hand across his mouth.

They have to show up for meals -- it'd seem suspicious as hell if they didn't. Not that Angel does a good job actually eating anything; he picks at the food, moving it around on his plate.

"They're gonna know something's up if you don't eat," Spike tells him as they're walking back to where the passenger quarters are.

Angel gives him a look. "You have _tasted_ that stuff, haven't you? No one actually wants to eat it."

"Difference between us and them is, they'll starve without it," Spike says. "But we don't want them to know that."

"We brought crates with us," Angel points out. "We could have our own food for all they know. Anyway, we paid to make this trip. And they probably have better things to worry about than what we're eating."

"Or not eating," Spike mutters and follows Angel into his quarters because it's too early to go to bed.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Spike wakes up in the dark. From somewhere in the ship, there's the faint sound of a girl crying.

It's a helpless, hopeless sort of sound. Small. Lost. Someone's comforting her, the warmer tones of a man's voice.

He's in the hallway before he's had time to think about it. He's always been impulsive, and no amount of time's likely to change that. The ship's quiet other than those two voices, the hum of the engines soothing, and Spike's there, outside River's quarters. The door is open and her brother is sitting on the bunk beside her, his face hidden by the tangle of the girl's hair.

River sees Spike, tenses, and Simon pulls back, eyes dark with worry.

"Couldn't sleep," Spike says. "Heard her crying. She okay?"

"She... has nightmares," Simon says.

The girl looks a bit wild. "I can hear them," she says, ignoring Simon when he tries to shush her. "Simon, I can... they're in my head, and they won't get out. I can't -- I don't know how to make them stop. Make them stop!" River shoves at her brother, pushing him off the bunk with surprising strength and darting for the door before Simon can get his feet under him again. Tries to slip past Spike, who catches her easily.

"Can't make them stop if you keep running away," Spike tells her, holding on as she struggles in his grip.

Simon's there, anxious. "Don't hurt her. She doesn't know what she's doing."

"I won't hurt her," Spike says, frowning. River's running out of fight, slowing down. "I won't hurt you, pet," he says gently, and she sags against him, breathing heavily. "Shh. There, now. You're all right."

"I'm not," River says. Her words push hot, damp air through the fabric of his shirt, making his skin prickle. She lifts her face and looks at him, intense. "And neither are you."

"No?" Spike says. He's caught between interested and bemused, and maybe a little bit caught in her eyes.

"There's something in your head, too," River says, reached tentative fingers toward the side where Spike's skull was bashed in. "It's different from mine. It doesn't talk to you, but you can feel it."

He flinches when her fingertips brush into his hair, and Simon pulls River away gently, murmuring soothing things to her. Spike steps out into the hallway, intent on leaving, but Simon glances at him and says, "Wait for me," in some kind of voice like an order, and for some reason, Spike waits.

The ship mutters and grumbles, the metal complaining, until Simon comes out and closes River's door -- not all the way, but enough to provide at least an illusion of privacy.

"I'm sorry," Simon says. "Thank you. For helping with her. She's..."

"Been through a lot?" Spike suggests. "Yeah, got that. No trouble."

"Is she -- " Simon hesitates, then forges ahead. "Forgive me if this is too personal, but... is she right? About...?" He gestures vaguely at Spike's head.

Spike wonders if he shouldn't answer, but there's something about Simon that's even more intriguing than his sister. "Yeah," he says uncomfortably. "She's right. Had a little accident. It's mostly healed up now, though."

"Mostly?" Simon steps back. "I could take a look."

There's an awkward pause. Spike wants to say yes, but thinks it'd be better if he said no. Simon opens his mouth to apologize, and quickly Spike says, "Yeah, all right."

It's the wrong thing to do, but he does it anyway. Bloody story of his life. They go into Simon's quarters, which are across from River's, and Simon gestures at his bunk. "Sit down."

Spike sits, and Simon steps close. "S'right here," Spike says, pointing.

Simon's fingers slide into his hair, warm. "Is it painful?" Simon asks.

"Not anymore," Spike says. Simon's hands map his skull, feeling the ridges slowly and gently. "Hurt like a bugger when it happened."

"I can imagine." Simon's voice is distant, distracted; he's thinking about the injury, not about Spike. Well, him too, what with it being his head and all, but it's more that he's something to study. "There's a depression here. When did this happen?"

Spike tries to think quick -- how long would it take a human to recover from that sort of thing? Not that a human _would_ recover. "Six months?" he guesses, then remembers, too late, that a doctor might note things like a lack of heartbeat and breathing a lot sooner than someone else.

"Will," Angel's voice says from the doorway, and Spike lifts his head. "I heard you get up. Everything okay?"

"The little bit had a nightmare," Spike says.

"Did you have one, too?" Angel asks pointedly, and Spike stands up.

"Sorry," he tells Simon. "Should let you get some sleep before she wakes you up again."

"All right," Simon says, and he and Angel exchange a long, calculating look as Spike brushes past Angel and into the hallway.

Spike goes right for Angel's quarters, knowing if he goes into his own, Angel'll follow him and it'll be harder to get away after the inevitable boring lecture.

"I thought we agreed we'd keep our distance," Angel says as soon as the door's shut.

"Agreed?" Spike says. "Pretty sure that'd take an actual conversation, not just you yammering away at me."

"You _know_ what could happen if they find out what we are," Angel says.

"They're going to be just as suspicious if all we do is hide out," Spike tells him. "I heard the girl crying. Wanted to make sure she was all right."

"Uh huh," Angel says flatly. "And that's why you were in her brother's room with him checking out your head. Not that I blame him for thinking it needs to be examined."

"Least he wasn't checking out how good I am at _giving_ head," Spike says, smirking. "Jealous?"

"I don't need to be," Angel says. He grabs onto the front of Spike's shirt and tows him in for a kiss, rough and possessive enough that it's the answer to Spike's question.

It doesn't take much more than Angel's hands on him to get him hard. "What do you want, Angel?" Spike mutters as Angel drags teeth down the length of his throat. "You want to fuck me? Want me to suck your cock?"

Angel groans, the sound of it vibrating across Spike's skin. "Yeah."

He doesn't say which, but it doesn't matter -- Spike's happy enough to do either. He gets down on his knees and undoes the front of Angel's trousers, gets out his cock and sucks it hard until Angel's right on the edge. One last lick to the underside, lingering at the head, then Spike gasps, "Fuck me," and turns away, fumbling with his own trousers, desperate to feel Angel inside him.

Two big fingers in him, head hung low, gasping. Angel's cock, huge and relentless. It's just what Spike wants, what he _needs_ , and he comes all over Angel's bunk and laughs afterward when Angel's pissed off about it.

"Where did you think you were fucking me?" he says, not even trying to stop.

"In the _ass_ ," Angel says darkly, rubbing at the stains on the blanket. "I didn't know you were going to come wherever you felt like it."

"Somehow I don't think you would have stopped if you had known," Spike says, but he can feel the sudden build of pressure in his head like a warning -- storm's coming in. "Stop being such a ponce."

Angel looks at him sharply. "Again?" he asks.

"I'm fine," Spike snaps. "'M not a bloody invalid." But when Angel sits on the bunk and gestures, Spike goes to him just the same. He crawls into the bunk and puts his head on Angel's thigh, and Angel's hand settles on his head, the weight of it comforting.

"Close your eyes," Angel says, and Spike does. After a minute, Angel asks, "Bad one?"

"Not so bad," Spike says. Of course they both know that, because if it were he'd be clutching at his head and writhing -- and sometimes begging Angel to stake him and put him out of his misery -- instead of just lying there waiting to see if it continues to build.

Angel pulls the blanket up over Spike. "I could get you something."

That'd mean him having to move. Spike doesn't want to move. "No."

"Okay." Angel's hand stays where it is, keeping Spike's head from fracturing into a hundred pieces, and eventually Spike drifts off to sleep.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


"So," Kaylee says brightly, in the tone of voice that means no good can come of this. "You two must have loads of interesting stories."

"Course we -- " Spike jumps when Angel kicks him underneath the table, then glares at him.

"Not really," Angel says.

Confused, frowning, Kaylee looks from Spike to Angel. "But you've got to... I mean, you've been lots of places."

"Folks don't always want to talk about where they been, Kaylee," Mal says. He gives Angel an apologetic look, man to man.

"I didn't mean it like that," Kaylee protests. "It's just we don't get new folks all that often, is all."

Angel stops paying attention when Spike starts telling Kaylee some story from fifty years ago, about a party they went to. It's enough to satisfy Kaylee's curiosity, and it lets Angel listen to what Zoe and Wash are saying at the other side of the table, in subtle whispers that they assume can't be overheard.

"I think it's drugs," Wash says.

"They look like addicts to you?" Zoe asks. Her face is turned toward her husband's, her lips curved into a smile no one else is meant to see.

Wash grins back at her. "Well, they are kind of pale," he whispers.

"You two got something you want to share?" Jayne asks loudly, and Zoe turns her head and looks at him so severely that he leans back in his seat and holds up both hands to ward her off. "Wash, tell your wife not to be giving me the evil eye."

Spike and Kaylee are watching now, too. "Zoe," Wash says, blinking at her. "Don't be mean to Jayne."

"He's a delicate sort," Mal says. "He can't take it."

"I can take it just fine," Jayne grumbles, pushing his chair back and getting up from the table.

"The Captain had a wife," Kaylee says. Her smile might be the widest one Angel has ever seen.

Mal glowers. "No, I didn't."

"Sure you did." Kaylee lifts her chin, still smiling. "And she was real pretty, too."

"She made fresh bao," Wash says helpfully, then becomes aware of Zoe's gaze. "Not that anyone likes that kind of thing. I like soup, myself."

"Marriage is an antiquated tradition," River announces. It's the first time she's spoken since they sat down at the table, and Angel sees Spike's attention turn to her, riveted. She's looking down at her plate, fiddling with the food on it but not eating.

"There, now," Mal says, nodding. "That's what I'm saying."

"You never want to get married, pet?" Spike asks her.

Shaking her head, River says, with a glint of mischief, "Simon says no one would be good enough for me."

Simon flushes, cheeks awash with pink that's more mottled than even. "I'm your brother," he tells her. "I'm supposed to think that."

"Has to look after you, doesn't he," Spike says. River nods.

"What about you two?" Kaylee asks, her eyes flickering to Mal for a brief instant. "Have you ever been married?"

Spike laughs. "What makes you think anyone'd marry Liam?"

"Hey!" Angel says, before he can remember not to let Spike get to him. Not that that ever works. "Well, actually, no. But not because no one would marry me."

"Some men just ain't the marryin' type," Jayne says.

Inara sets her cup down on the table and smiles. "Neither are some women," she says, and no one seems to have a comment to that.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Spike gets used to hearing River wake up in the night. Sometimes she screams; most of the time she just cries. He's close enough, and his hearing's good enough, that he can listen while Simon comforts her.

After, Simon goes back to his own room, next to hers, and it's quiet.

Most nights.

Then there's the night Simon stands in the hallway afterwards, for a long time. It's like he's waiting to see if River's really okay, or maybe he's trying to talk himself into something. Or out of it. Finally, Spike hears his footsteps go off, up the stairs, and it's all quiet again.

Second time that happens, Spike waits until the sound of Simon's feet is almost gone, then slips out into the hallway. He's barefoot, creeping through the ship, following Simon.

When he discovers where Simon's been headed -- sees Simon tap on Mal's door, hears the sleepy grumble from within -- he's more shocked than he would have expected. They're doing a hell of a job of hiding it; Spike figures he's more inclined than the next bloke to notice things like quick glances and lingering touches, but he hasn't seen even a hint of that.

He moves closer once the door's shut, listening.

"Thought you weren't gonna darken my doorway again," Mal says, but there's a softer sound underneath it, fingers unfastening buttons.

"I wasn't," Simon says, and then there's nothing but lips and tongues and, not much later, muffled groans.

Spike stays there until he hears Mal come, then goes back to Angel's quarters, cock hard and insistent.

"You okay?" Angel asks, when he opens the door and goes in. The lights are out -- Angel was actually sleeping for once, maybe -- but he turns them on as Spike crawls into bed with him.

"Yeah," Spike says gruffly. He reaches down and finds Angel's cock, already swelling against his thigh.

Angel stifles some sound. "Did you want something?" he asks, amused.

"From you? Never." But Spike slides down and sucks on Angel's dick a bit, getting it good and wet before straddling him, lining Angel up and stretching himself open. Feels incredible, just like always, Angel's cock inside him, and before the fucking's over he's forgotten that he didn't want anything from Angel and is reduced to begging, "Christ, Angel, fuck me."

"The doctor and the captain are shagging," he tells Angel later, when they're recovering.

"Mal?" Angel's surprised; his hand, which has been resting on Spike's shoulder, tightens briefly. "What makes you think that?"

"Saw it with my own eyes," Spike says, then, hearing the lie, amends, "Well, heard it. Simon snuck off to the captain's quarters."

"Someone really needs to explain to you -- again -- the concept of keeping a low profile," Angel says.

"They didn't know I was there," Spike protests. "That's a low enough profile."

"Anyway, it's not like it's any of our business what they do," Angel says.

Spike nods. "Guess not." It's the longest conversation they've had about anyone on the ship, though. That's got to mean something, even if Spike's not sure what it is.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Angel's coming back from the cargo hold with a couple of chilled blood packets in the knapsack he doesn't really use for anything else when he bumps -- not literally, although it's a close thing -- into the Shepherd. Book.

Book's the oldest guy on the ship as far as he knows, and acts it. He doesn't talk a lot, unless it's to gently chide one of the others when things get snippy, and he watches conversations with a little, relaxed smile, his dark eyes knowing.

There are things he doesn't know, though.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he says, reaching out to steady Angel at the same time Angel reaches to steady him. They don't touch each other. "I didn't hear you coming."

"I'm not wearing my boots," Angel says, stepping back. He tilts one of his slippered feet to the side, and Book looks down at it and nods.

Book glances past Angel, and Angel can see him thinking. Wondering. "Taking a walk?" he asks. "It can be a bit of a challenge, adjusting to life in a small ship." It's the politest form of question, one that's not really a question at all.

"We've done a lot of traveling," Angel says. "You'd be surprised, actually."

"I don't think I would be," Book says thoughtfully. There's a long pause, then he adds, "Well. Have a nice evening."

"Yeah. You, too." And they both go their separate ways.

When he gets back to his quarters, Spike's not there. He's not in his own, either; Angel tucks the blood into the small storage chest at the foot of the bunk and goes looking for him. It doesn't take long to find him, of course, because the Shepherd was right -- it _is_ a small ship.

Spike's sitting on the back of the sofa just outside the infirmary, behind River, who's leaning over the table, drawing.

"S'nice, pet," Spike says.

River looks back over her shoulder at him. "It's not as good as his," she says, and glances at Angel.

As usual, Spike doesn't seem to notice that the girl's conversations aren't exactly normal. "Well, no. But Liam's got some years on you. When you've been around as long as he has, you'll likely be as good as him. Maybe better."

Frowning, River selects a different pencil. "That won't happen," she says.

"Sure it will," Spike starts to say, but she interrupts.

"No," she says, fixing him with a steady gaze. "I mean I won't live that long." Her lips curve up into a playful smile. "But then, neither did you." And she goes back to her drawing while Spike and Angel stare at each other, open-mouthed.

After a minute, Spike says, hesitantly, "Pet... River. The thing is -- "

"I know," River says. She looks at him again. "It's a secret. Don't worry. I won't tell."

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


"You think she's going to keep her mouth shut?" Angel asks later, after they've fed.

"What are you on about now?" Spike asks.

"River," Angel says. "How the hell did she know, anyway?"

Spike shrugs. "Sees things. Like Dru."

There's a name that's guaranteed to put Angel in a bad mood. "She and her brother seem pretty close."

"Yeah?"

"I mean she might say something to him," Angel says, starting to get irritated at Spike's apparent lack of interest in the conversation. "About us."

"You heard her," Spike says. "She knows it's a secret. Said she won't tell."

"Doesn't mean she won't," Angel says. The ship shudders slightly, and he pauses, listening. "What the hell was that?"

"Probably nothing." Spike sighs and sits up at the end of the bunk. "You gonna worry at this all night? Because I'll go, give you some time alone with your misery and paranoia."

Angel doesn't know whether to tell him to go or stay. He reaches out and wraps his hand around Spike's wrist, feeling the bones beneath the skin, turning Spike's arm until the palm is facing up.

"You all right?" Spike asks.

He nods. "Yeah." It's been a long time, though, since he's felt so unsettled, and he's not even sure why. "Maybe I'll talk to her."

"Just make sure you do it when Simon's not around," Spike says. "I can keep him busy, if you like. Distract him."

"I'll bet you could," Angel says. "You keep away from him. He's a hell of a lot more dangerous than his sister."

Spike shakes his head. "He won't cause any trouble. Don't worry -- I can handle him."

That's exactly what Angel's worried about.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


"They're trouble," Mal says. "Mark my words."

"Then why let them on board in the first place?" Simon asks. Spike is standing outsidethe infirmary where they can't see him, listening.

Mal makes a frustrated sound. "You know how bad we needed the money. They had it. Don't see as we had much choice."

"You see, that's the problem," Simon says intently. "I _don't_ know how badly we needed the money. You don't tell me things like that. You don't _talk_ to me."

"You're not my _wife_ ," Mal says. He lowers his voice again. "I don't owe you any explanations."

There's a brief silence, then Simon says, "No. You're right. You don't owe me anything."

Spike knows a dismissal when he hears one, and beats a hasty retreat.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


He waits until River's been through her near-nightly fret to leave his quarters and move silently down the hall. He never heard Simon's door close, so he knows he's sitting there, waiting to see if his sister's gone back to sleep or if this is a temporary reprieve.

Simon looks up when Spike pauses in his doorway, his heartbeat going from steady to quick. "You startled me."

"Sorry," Spike says, meaning it, and tilts his head toward River's room. "She all right?"

"I think so." Simon's sitting on the edge of his bunk with an open book in his hands. Like Spike, he's not wearing anything but a pair of loose trousers, and his bare chest looks smooth and tempting in the low light. "I'm sorry if she woke you."

"Wasn't sleeping," Spike says. He feels suddenly awkward in a way he can't remember feeling for a long, long time, and he wishes for a cigarette. They'd always been good for keeping his hands busy. "Can I come in?"

"Of course." Setting his book aside, Simon stands up as Spike steps inside and shuts the door. "Was there something you needed?" His eyes are dark; he licks his lips nervously.

"Don't think need's the right word," Spike murmurs, moving close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. "Want, maybe." One hand settles at Simon's waist. "That okay with you?"

Simon licks his lips again. Nods. Spike doesn't wait for him to change his mind; he kisses Simon, slow and gentle, teasing at his mouth until Simon moans and leans into the embrace. It's been more than a year since the last time Spike took a fancy to anyone with a heartbeat, and Simon's warmth seeps into him, making him more than a little bit crazy. They end up stretched out on the bunk, kissing frantically, Spike's hand shoved down the front of Simon's trousers and wrapped around his cock.

"Please," Simon gasps.

"Please what, love?" Spike murmurs into his ear. He licks the delicate edge and listens with pleasure to Simon's soft groan. "What is it you'd like?"

"You." Simon settles his own hand over Spike's erection, rubbing at it with less skill than Spike would have expected. "I'd like you to... to be inside me."

Sounds bloody wonderful to Spike. "Yeah." He stands up next to the bunk and pushes his trousers down, kicking them off, then helps Simon with his, nearly tearing the fabric in his eagerness to get his hands on all that bare skin.

Simon's cock is red at the tip, and he gives a little sigh and bends his knee when Spike runs a hand up the inside of his thigh. "I have something," he says helpfully, gesturing at a small cupboard. "If you -- "

"Won't need it," Spike says. He moves Simon where he wants him, on his knees with his face in the pillow, and gets his mouth down there, giving a long, wet swipe with his tongue and grinning when Simon jerks in shock.

"You -- you shouldn't -- "

"Hush," Spike tells him. He holds onto Simon's narrow hips and does it again. Simon trembles and moans, cock throbbing where it's hanging between his legs, and doesn't protest again.

Spike loves this. He goes at it for a long time, licking Simon until he's groaning steadily and glistening with sweat, then pressing a finger slowly inside all that glorious heat. Simon makes a choked sound and pushes back, wordlessly begging for more.

"Want my cock, do you?" Spike asks. Holding it in his hand, he rubs the head against Simon's slick entrance. "Do you?"

" _Yes_." Simon's all desperation, shoulders lifting. "Please. Will."

Spike doesn't want to hear the name of someone he stopped being hundreds of years ago -- he forces himself inside, ignoring the pained sound Simon makes and getting all the way in, deep. "Shh," he croons, feeling guilty as soon as it's done. He strokes his hands over Simon's hips and Simon relaxes.

After that, Spike focuses on taking Simon to a place where he can't say anything at all. He fucks him slow and careful at first, then speeds up for a while before slowing down again. He doesn't touch Simon's cock until the very end; when he does, he licks his palm first, and Simon comes, crying out into the pillow, as soon as Spike's hand is wrapped around him.

He does what he likes then -- thrusts hard and fast until the orgasm's wrenched from him, the base of his spine twisting with the force of it.

They lie there for a while, after, with Spike tucked up against Simon's back. "Sorry if I was a bit rough," he offers finally.

"What? No." Simon turns over, looking at Spike. "You weren't."

No point in arguing with him, Spike figures. Maybe he likes it rough. "Okay." He sits up, which is awkward considering he's stuck between Simon and the wall, and tries to remember what happened to his trousers.

"You don't have to go," Simon tells him, and flushes when Spike gives him a raised eyebrow. "I just meant... you could stay for a while. If you wanted to."

"Not sure we want to chance your sister walking in on us," Spike says.

Simon nods, probably because that's the expected response. It's not like he's going to admit that River will know, whether she sees or hears them or not. "No, I suppose we don't."

"Unless she already knows?" Spike asks, watching Simon's face for his reaction.

"Do you think we were that loud?" Simon asks innocently.

Spike laughs, both amused and impressed, and kisses him. "Doubt it. But I meant maybe you've told her it's blokes you're interested in?" There's still a little flush on Simon's cheeks. It's a good look for him.

"It's not." As Spike gets up, Simon pulls himself to a sitting position and tugs the blanket over his lap. "Not -- just -- blokes."

Nodding, Spike finds his trousers and puts them on. "Yeah," he says. "I like both, too."

Simon seems embarrassed by the topic of conversation now. "Well. Thank you -- "

"For coming?" Spike suggests, and they both grin. Simon's is shy, slow to spread across his face, and bloody adorable. "See you at breakfast."

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


He doesn't wash the smell from him, even though Angel won't like knowing. Instead, Spike arranges things so he's there before Angel comes in, sitting at the table, chair pushed back. Mal's there, and Kaylee, drinking the tea she likes that reminds Spike of perfume, like something Inara wears.

Mal nods at Angel when he comes in, and Kaylee looks up, eyes bright. "Good morning," she says.

"Morning," Angel says, pulling out a chair. He gives Spike a look -- not the one that's coming, but one that asks why he's here on his own.

Spike isn't planning on answering a question Angel didn't even have the stones to ask out loud, but even if he had been, he wouldn't have had time. Angel's nostrils flare and his eyes go darker, hard. He's not holding anything, which is good because his hand curls into a fist.

Kaylee notices. Frowns, starts to open her mouth, then thinks better of it and, showing more sense than she has since Spike's known her, makes a hasty excuse and leaves. Mal's still sitting there, staring at the handle of his cup, oblivious to the quicksilver that's hanging in the air heavy as lightning and at least as deadly.

Shouldn't come as a surprise, Spike thinks. He knew right off that Mal didn't get to be Captain because he's sharp _or_ because he's lucky. Just soldiers through, doesn't he, determined. It explains the stubbornness in his eyes and the jut of his jaw.

Eyes that aren't watching Spike and Angel now, not even when Angel says, "Let's take a walk, Will."

Spike shakes his head and slouches a little lower in his chair. "Nah. I'm good."

"It wasn't a request," Angel tells him. "That's why you didn't hear that little lilt at the end of the sentence. You know, the one that makes it sound like a question." His voice is controlled, but the anger in it leaks through, and Mal looks up, studying each of them in turn.

"There a problem I should know about?" Mal asks.

"Not one that's any of your business," Angel says.

Mal's face doesn't change, but there's a frown there plain as day. "Everything on this boat's my business."

"Not everything," Angel says. The anger's seeped into his posture now; even his upper arms are tense. If they were anywhere else, he'd be breaking things by now. "Not this."

"I'd beg to differ, but I don't beg," Mal tells him, and looks at Spike again. "Since your friend here doesn't want to share, you want to tell me what's going on?"

Spike's tempted to put it off, draw it out, but might as well let the fun begin now. "He doesn't like that I shagged one of your crew," he says, grinning as Mal's mouth tightens and waiting for the inevitable question that'll follow.

"Did you now," Mal says through a clenched jaw. "And which one would that be? Not just for curiosity's sake, you understand. If you're going to be fraternizing with my people, I need to know about it."

"'Fraternizing'?" Spike asks, blinking and grinning even more widely. "That what the kids are calling it these days?" He ignores Angel's glare and focuses on Mal. "I think if he wants you to know, he'll tell you himself."

" _He_?" Mal says.

And Simon, whose footsteps Spike's been listening to coming up the stairs from the infirmary, walks into the dining room, then stops when everyone's eyes turn to look at him. "What?" he says, and Mal and Angel both start talking at once.

Mal: "This jing tzahng mei yong duh -- "

Angel: " _Will_ , I'm sure the Captain doesn't want to -- "

And "You _told_ them?" Simon asks Spike, eyes wide, mouth open.

For a second or two, Spike actually feels a little bit sorry, but it doesn't last because there's pressure in his head, sudden and sharp, _pushing_ like it's going to blast his skull apart, and then a roaring in his ears, and his last conscious thought as he tries to stand up is that he's going to miss all the fun.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Spike goes down hard; Angel's so distracted by the expression on Simon's face and by Mal's shouting that he doesn't realize it's happening until too late. Too late to get around the table to catch him, and too late to get a hand under Spike's head before it hits the floor with a sickening crack.

Mal shuts up, at least, except for a muttered curse as he pushes back his chair. Simon's almost as fast as Angel -- a doctor's reflexes, Angel supposes grudgingly -- and is on his knees beside Spike, fingers reaching to check a pulse that isn't there.

"Don't touch him," Angel says quickly, shoving Simon's hand away and trying to think of an excuse. "Sorry. Sometimes he kind of freaks out. When he comes to. I don't want him to hurt you, that's all."

"I can take care of myself." Simon touches Spike's face instead, gently. "How often does this happen?"

"Not often," Angel says. It's been a long time since Spike passed out like this -- mostly it's just the headaches these days, though they're bad enough.

"Is he sick?" Mal asks.

Simon doesn't look up. "No; it's an old injury." To Angel, "We need to get him to the infirmary. I can do more for him there."

Shaking his head resolutely, Angel says, "He hates hospitals, places like that. He'll be okay once he comes around."

"I thought you said he might be violent."

"Well, not so much _violent_ as..." Angel gives up. "Look, just trust me."

Spike twitches and makes a soft sound, then curls onto his side, wrapping his arms up around his head. It's not a position Angel's unfamiliar with. "Christ," Spike mutters, his voice thick with pain. "Kill me."

"Easy," Simon tells him, then looks at Angel again. "Help me get him to the infirmary. Please."

"Drugs there," Spike gasps, his spine arching and then curling again, a slow, taut roll like a fish out of water struggling in its last moments. "Angel."

"Now he's seeing _Angels_?" Mal says incredulously as Angel and Simon get Spike up off the floor between them. As they start out into the hallway, Angel hears Mal saying, "Will _someone_ tell me what the _hell_ is going on on my gorram ship?"

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Spike's fucking head is about to explode, and they're _arguing._

"Just give him something for the pain," Angel's saying, familiar hands on Spike. He's keeping close, keeping Simon back. Spike's too busy waiting for his head to explode to wonder why.

"I need to understand why this is happening." Simon's voice is too loud; it sends a bolt of fresh pain through Spike and he writhes, bangs his temple with a closed fist. Doesn't help -- it never does -- but he has to do something. Angel grabs onto his wrist and stops him from doing it a second time, though. "If he's bleeding into his brain, the wrong medication could kill him."

"Won't," Spike manages to get out.

"He's had everything legal and most of the stuff that's not," Angel says. "He doesn't react badly to anything, okay?"

Spike throws his head back, then curls forward again until his forehead's pressed against Angel's solid bulk. His mouth's open, and a strangled sound forces its way out through his throat. He's going to need something to bite down on if this goes on much longer.

His head's going to fucking _explode_ \-- Simon's not going to like all the little bits of brain all over his nice clean infirmary, is he -- and that'll be the end of him. Or maybe not; maybe he'll be a new kind of undead altogether, like a zombie, going around with vacant eyes and a desperate need for brains. "Fuck," he grits out, grabbing a fistful of Angel's waistband and tightening his grip until his knuckles ache. It's a relief to feel pain somewhere other than in his head. "Do something. Anything. Knock me out again, I don't care, just don't _leave_ me like this."

Angel's big hand curls around the back of his head. "See?" Angel says.

"Fine," says Simon tightly. There's a pause almost long enough to make Spike open his eyes again, then the press against his upper arm and the blessed cold rush of strong painkiller through him.

Everything goes kind of rounded and fuzzy then. When Spike opens his eyes -- and he has to, because with them closed he can feel himself floating in space, can feel the thrust and shove of the ship's engines, maybe even hear the breathing of everyone on Serenity -- Simon and Angel are both watching him, their heads bobbing on their necks like balloons on strings, and he grins.

"Better?" Simon asks.

Spike's not so far gone he forgets not to nod. "Yeah." He can still feel the pain, but it's distant now like it belongs to someone else. "Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks," Angel says, and hauls Spike to a sitting position. "I'll just get him out of your hair; he can sleep it off back in his quarters."

"Oh, no," Simon tells him, grabbing onto Spike's other arm and pushing in other direction. He's a bloody puppet on a string, he is. "I gave him something for the pain like you asked. Now it's my turn."

"You're not using any of your crazy techno toys on him," Angel growls, and Spike laughs. Puppets, toys. He wants to ask if they'll be playing ball next, but that just makes him giggle more hysterically.

"Simon," River says from the doorway. She looks little but determined; reminds Spike of Dawn when she's like this. "They don't want you to know."

"Know what?" Mal asks, moving her into the infirmary then stepping around her and putting his hands on his hips. Glowers like a pro, he does. No wonder Simon -- "Excuse me if I'm out of line -- oh, wait, no. I can't be out of line, because this is _my ship_ \-- but I want some answers and I'm not looking too kindly on being asked to wait. What the hell is going on?"

Kaylee appears. "Hey, Cap'n, there's a -- " She frowns as she sees them all there. "What's going on?"

"That's exactly what I want to know," Mal says.

"It's a secret," River says softly, her eyes wide.

"And we all know how everyone likes secrets," Spike says. Bloody tongue's too big for his mouth. "Only not, unless they're the ones spillin' em."

"You shut up." Angel's hand tightens on Spike's arm. "Will had an accident a couple of years back. He hasn't been the same since. He gets these headaches. But Simon gave him something, and now he's feeling better, so I'm just going to take him back to his bunk so he can sleep it off. That's all there is to tell."

Spike goggles at him. "All there is to tell?" He realizes his arm hurts and looks at it to see why. Oh, right, Angel's hand. Trying to pry it off one finger at a time takes all his concentration. "Would you -- let go -- "

"Fine," Angel says wearily, releasing him. Spike tilts alarmingly in the other direction, but Simon's still got hold of his other arm and steadies him. When Spike raises his face, River's come two steps closer.

"You want to tell." Her voice is still low.

He blinks and tries to sort out what the hell she's talking about. Wants to tell what?

"You know you shouldn't, the same way you shouldn't trust us. But you do." River's looking right at him -- it's like there's no one else in the room. "You can't help it."

Spike clears his throat and swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. "Can see it, can't you." Right inside him, like his skin's gone invisible.

"I can see everything," River confides, and if she's the one telling the secrets, well then it's not Spike's fault, is it.

"Can't say it's reassuring to find someone crazy enough to converse with your sister," Mal says to Simon, who straightens, pushing Spike upright and trusting him to sit on his own.

"She's not crazy," Simon spits out, the words sharp enough that Spike can feel them in his head despite the pain meds.

"It's all right," River says to the room. "I won't tell." And she slips away, out the door. Makes Spike feel dizzy, watching her go; he turns his face toward Simon, and Simon reaches toward him like it's second nature.

"Get out." Simon's voice is tight and he gestures at the door. "All of you."

Spike leans against him, pressing his face against Simon's shirt. Smells funny, like detergent, maybe. "Don't want to," he mumbles into the fabric.

"Not you. Everyone else." Simon's warm hand settles at the back of Spike's neck. "Go on. I won't say it again."

There's a pause, awkward and quiet. Spike wonders what Mal's face looks like -- he doesn't need to wonder about Angel's, he can guess at that well enough -- but doesn't lift his face to find out.

"I'll be right outside," Angel says, and then footsteps move toward the door and Simon tells Spike to lie down and he does, feeling as the bed and the room and the ship tilt and lift and spin beneath him.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Angel paces outside the infirmary for half an hour or so; long after the rest of them have given up and gone away.

"He'll find out," River says. Okay, so maybe not _all_ the rest of them.

"Who, Mal?"

She shakes her head. Her hair is loose; she uses it to hide behind. "Simon. He's smart. He'll figure it out." She creeps closer as Angel sits down on the couch, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. Great -- now _he's_ getting a headache. "He'll figure out what you are."

"How did you?" Angel asks. He'd hear if there were anyone around to listen in on their conversation; there's not. "What gave us away?" He still wants to think she doesn't really know, that maybe she's thinking he and Spike are smugglers or something, which would be kind of funny because he's pretty sure that's what Mal is.

"I see things," River says. "I see what people are. Where they've been." She pauses, then adds, "What they've done."

"What have I done?" Angel asks. His voice is low and hoarse.

River steps up onto the couch next to him, folding herself into a little ball, one arm wrapped around her legs, which are bare. Her feet must get cold, Angel thinks. "You don't want me to say. It's dark. You dream about it sometimes." She doesn't need to ask questions. She already knows the answers. "But it's not your fault."

"It's not?"

"It's inside you, but it's not you." She reaches out and lays her hand on his chest, over his unbeating heart. "You're more than that." Her eyes search his, but not like she's waiting for confirmation that she's right. "You worry about him."

Angel wishes he could deny that, but it doesn't seem like there's much point. Not with this girl, at least. "Yeah."

"He'll be all right."

There are footsteps on the metal stairs above as Mal comes stomping back down. "I don't like this," he says, like he's expecting Angel to do something about it.

Angel doesn't say anything.

"This is _my ship,_ " Mal says. He looks at River. "I oughta be the one telling people when to go, not your hwun dan of a brother."

Blinking up at him, River says, "You're angry."

"Damn right I'm angry! Ain't nobody should be ordering me out of my infirmary. _My_ infirmary, not his." Mal's frowning, but Angel notes he's not actually storming into the infirmary he's so determined to convince everyone belongs to him and not Simon.

"If you talk to Simon, he listens," River says. "He always listens."

The infirmary door opens. Simon stands there on the other side, wiping hands that already look clean on a cloth.

Angel's on his feet before he can even think. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine. He's sleeping." Simon looks at Angel steadily, his eyes speaking volumes, and for a few seconds Angel's sure the game is up, that they've been found out. They never should have gotten on a ship with a doctor, never. But then Simon steps aside and gestures. "You can sit with him if you want to."

"Thanks." Angel walks past Simon, in to where Spike's asleep. The infirmary bed's not much more than a cot, but somehow Spike still manages to look small on it, small and fragile, even though Angel knows he's far from it. Outside, Mal and Simon are exchanging a few terse words; River has crept past them. She gets up onto the other bed and watches as Angel stands there.

Simon comes inside again and shuts the door, shutting Mal out. "We need to talk," he says.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Why the fuck does everyone have to shout all the time? Spike claws his way up out of sleep to the sound of Angel and Simon arguing, although once he's properly awake he can hear they aren't actually shouting, more like growling at each other.

"Give me _one_ good reason I shouldn't go tell the Captain about this," Simon threatens.

"Maybe because I won't let you?" Angel suggests. "You have no idea what you're dealing with here."

"M'pretty sure he does," Spike says, and they all look at him, even River, who's sitting over on the other bed and watching the conversation like it's some kind of sports match. "Told him everything."

"What?" Angel's hand clenches into a fist. "Jesus, I can't leave you alone for a second, can I."

"Seems like the problem was you left me with _him_ ," Spike says, nodding at Simon. His head's stopped hurting, at least, though there's an echo of it hovering right behind his eyes.

Simon's arms are crossed over his chest. "He couldn't help it. The painkiller I gave him may have made him... a little more cooperative."

Angel growls and Simon's shoulders stiffen, but he doesn't take a step back. Impressive, Spike thinks. "I knew you couldn't be trusted," Angel tells Simon.

"You can't blame me for being curious." Simon's almost smiling. Almost. "The opportunity to find out more presented itself, and I took it. Don't try to convince me you wouldn't have done the same."

"Threats are more Angel's style than taking advantage of blokes when they're half drugged out of their heads," Spike says, pushing himself to a sitting position.

"You still should be." Simon steps around Angel and comes over to touch Spike, just a hand on his back, support Spike tells himself he doesn't need. "I thought you'd sleep for hours."

"Benefits of a fast metabolism," Spike says. He grins.

"You shouldn't have a metabolism at all," Simon complains. "No heartbeat, no breathing... none of it makes any sense."

"They died," River says helpfully. "Dead things don't have a heartbeat; don't need to breathe."

"But they don't usually walk around, either." Simon can't seem to make his mind up about them. "I should tell the Captain. He'd want to know about this."

"He won't like knowing," Spike points out. He swings his legs down over the edge of the table and stands up, wondering if they'll be kicked off the ship when Mal finds out. Which of course he will, now that Simon knows. It's not like the doctor's going to keep his mouth shut on something like this.

"No, he won't," Simon agrees. "But he'd like me keeping it from him even less."

Hard to argue with that. "Go on, then. Run off and tell him like a good boy."

But Simon hesitates. "He's going to think I'm crazy."

"Probably," Angel says.

"He'll want some kind of proof." Simon goes over and sits down next to River, cradling his head in his hands like he's the one with a busted skull. River pats his shoulder reassuringly. "Why do things like this always happen to me?"

"Met other vampires before, have you?" Spike asks, and when Angel glares at him, says, "What? Are you forgetting the part where I told him before?"

"You don't have to keep _saying_ it," Angel says.

Spike rolls his eyes. "Not saying it doesn't make it any less true, you ponce."

"How would we know?" Simon asks, and they both look at him. "No, I'm serious. You've been on the ship for weeks and I didn't suspect a thing until today."

"There aren't all that many of us anymore," Angel says. "On Earth-that-was it was easier to stay safe. Out here..."

"It's harder to hide." River's playing with a strand of her hair, holding it up and looking at the ends of it. "Too many suns rising. Too many people asking questions."

"Clever girl," Spike says.

"And that's what you're keeping in the cargo bay. Blood." Simon's voice is a bit flat.

"Better than feeding off you lot, isn't it?" Spike asks.

River cocks her head to one side, listening to music that isn't there. She's so like Dru it's a bit scary. "It's like dancing," she says, and gets up and starts to spin around gracefully.

"River --" Simon reaches a hand toward her.

"Don't tell the Captain," she says. "He won't understand." And she spins off out of the room. Her steps are so light she's almost silent, a ghost girl fading into the distance as she dances to music only she can hear, leaving the three of them there, and none of them say a word.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Spike wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of River whimpering. They're little soft sounds; she's like a terrified animal, unable to keep from making the noises even while knowing they're going to give her away. He waits, listening, for Simon's door to open, for the sound of Simon's voice to soothe away her fears.

But it doesn't come, and after another minute or so Spike gets up himself and moves quickly down the hallway to her room. "Pet?" he murmurs at the door, and his voice is strangely roughened. River gives another scared whimper.

He opens the door and goes inside.

She's curled up on the bed, face pressed to the wall, hands having gathered up two fistfuls of the blanket. At first it doesn't seem like she even knows he's there, not even when he sits on the bed and touches her shoulder.

"Pet?" he says again. "There, now. It's all right."

River turns her head and looks at him; her eyes are wide with fear, her lip curled slightly. "I hear them when I'm dreaming," she says. "In my head."

"Do you? And what do they say?" He shouldn't ask, but he can't help himself.

"They cry for the people they love. The ones they've lost. Their hands... their hands reach out to me, they want me to help them..." She starts to cry helplessly, and Spike strokes her hair. He knows how to do this.

"Hush, pet. It's just dreams. No one in there can hurt you."

She clings to him, cheek to his chest. It's not until he feels her tears, warm and wet on his skin, that he remembers he's not wearing a shirt. "I just want it to stop," she whispers, and he nods.

"I know. It will. Your brother'll sort it out, won't he? He's a smart one."

River relaxes against him after another few breaths. She's quiet enough that he wonders if she's gone off to sleep, but then she suddenly jerks away from him, sits upright. "He's coming. He knows."

Spike can't help but react to her panic. "Who knows?"

"Mal."

Next thing Spike hears is footsteps and shouting. It takes a second or two to sort out who it is, what's being said.

"How long have you known about this?" Mal, and angry as a buzzing bee by the sound of it.

Simon: "I just found out. Don't -- look, calm down. It's the middle of the night, can't we wait to talk about this in the --"

"No, we can't," Mal says. "Not with those two roaming the ship."

"They're _sleeping_ ," Simon tells him, just as Mal stalks past River's quarters, stops, and comes back.

"Don't look like sleeping to me," Mal says, deadly calm, and points his gun at Spike's head.

"Mal!" Simon jerks at his arm. "River, come here." Of course his first instinct is to protect his sister, and Spike doesn't blame him for that.

"Go on, pet," Spike tells her, urging her onto her feet, and she hesitates, then scuttles through the doorway. Mal steps aside to give her room, then back into the place he'd been, still pointing the gun at Spike.

Getting shot won't kill him, but it'll hurt like hell. Spike would rather avoid it if he can.

"You stay right there," Mal says, then raises his voice. "Zoe! Where the hell are you?"

She's coming, if the quick footsteps are any indication. Mal must've got her up before. "Here, Sir," she says. Her hair's loose -- she must sleep with it like that -- but she doesn't look any less like a warrior, especially with the gun she's holding. "What's going on?"

"Why don't you ask the good doctor?" Mal says. He gestures at Spike. "Keep him here; I'm going to get Liam. If that's even his name."

"It is," Spike says. "One of them." Never can keep his mouth shut. He can hear Angel's door open, though, before Mal's even gone anywhere.

Mal turns, pointing his gun in Angel's direction. "Don't move."

"What's going on?" Angel asks, voice wary. Spike doesn't need to see the look on his face -- he can imagine it well enough.

"Simon tells me the two of you ain't what you seem," Mal says.

Spike shifts on the bed, and Zoe shifts her own weight, adding her second hand to the gun to steady it. She probably thinks she'll be standing there a while. "He's right. We're vampires."

"What? I must be dreaming, because I'd swear he just said _vampires_ ," Wash says. He must have followed along after Zoe.

"I told you not to tell him," River says to Simon.

Mal glares at her. "Well, I, for one, am glad he did, although I wish it'd been a mite sooner."

Looking back at Mal steadily, River says, "I told him you wouldn't understand."

"Understand that these two are crazy? Oh, I understand that just fine. I don't care what they think they are other than that. They can call themselves whatever they like."

"Will doesn't have a heartbeat." Simon's trying to sound calm, trying to reason with Mal, not that Spike's sure there's much point. "He doesn't breathe."

"Well then, he won't mind so much when we toss him out the hatch," Mal says.

"Sir?" Zoe doesn't seem to like that idea.

"I thought we'd agreed that there would be voting before we killed people," Wash says.

"Simon tells me they're already dead, so I don't see how it'd be killing," Mal says.

"Since when do we believe in vampires?" Wash sounds so confused that Spike can't help but grin; Zoe doesn't seem to like that much, if the way her hand tightens on her gun's any indication.

Mal frowns. "We don't."

"Then why are there guns and threats?" Wash asks plaintively. "Is it just me, or is everyone acting crazy?"

"There's no need to get bent out of shape," Angel says from the hallway. "We can talk about this."

Bored with the way the conversation's starting to go, Spike stands up. "Or we could stop talking and get this over with," he says, and slips into game face. "There, you see? Vampire."

Wash mutters something in Chinese. Zoe and Mal both looked shocked, in a stoic sort of way -- soldier's a soldier for life -- but River is smiling. It's just a little smile, a secret smile. Simon looks from her to Spike and back again like he's not sure what to do or think.

"Okay," Wash says, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Now that's kind of freaky."

"You think?" Mal steps back and gestures with his gun toward River's room. "You, get in there with him."

There's a pause, then very faint footsteps as Angel pads barefoot down the hallway. He gets close to Mal, looking in through the doorway at Spike, then, at the last second, turns lightning-quick and snatches Mal's gun out of his hand, shoves him up against the wall with a hand at his throat and the gun pointed at his head.

Zoe tightens her finger on the trigger of her gun but doesn't know whether to keep pointing it at Spike or to turn it on Angel. She seems to decide Angel's the bigger threat. "Let him go."

"I could kill him," Angel says. "In a split second. And you shooting me isn't going to kill me."

"No?" Zoe says. "Let's find out." And she pulls the trigger.

The sound of the gun firing is surprisingly loud in the small space. Angel staggers but doesn't drop his -- Mal's -- gun; Spike takes advantage of Zoe's momentary distraction to leap forward and pluck hers from her hand.

"That's enough of that," he says. "No more shooting." Doesn't stop him from pointing it at Zoe's head, just to make his point. He won't shoot her unless he has to -- none of this is her fault, after all -- but he's pretty sure the threat of it'll shut everyone up.

Turns out he's wrong. Next thing he knows, everyone's talking at once, and Kaylee's there, too, eyes wide. "What's going on?"

"We seem to be having a little disagreement," Mal says. The fact that he can talk at all means Angel's hand's not as tight on his throat as it might have been.

"No," Kaylee says. "No disagreements. I don't like disagreements. Who shot Liam?"

Angel's blood's pattering down onto the floor.

"That would be me," Zoe says tightly.

"Can we all just put the guns down and talk about this like civilized people?" Wash asks.

"We're not the ones who started this," Angel says.

Spike sighs. "What are you, five? We've got to argue about who started it now?"

"She _shot_ me," Angel tells him.

"Yeah, I know. I was here." Spike steps closer to Angel and holds out his free hand. "Come on, give it here."

"I'm not getting shot again," Angel says, but he obeys, handing Spike Mal's gun.

"Good," Wash says. "This is better. No shooting."

"Considering I'm the one who has to patch up the people the Captain shoots, I approve of that." Simon seems to be relaxing a little bit.

"Wasn't me did the shooting!" Mal protests.

"It might as well have been." Simon moves cautiously nearer to Angel. "Will you let me look at that?"

"It'll heal on its own," Angel says.

Simon frowns; he looks thoughtful more than anything else. Funny, that. Spike would have guessed he'd be freaking out about now. "Then why hasn't Will's...?" He gestures at his head.

"Different situation," Spike says. It's impossible to go into it here, standing in the hallway of this little, ramshackle ship as it hurtles through space.

Mal snorts.

Spike gives him a look. "What?"

"Well, I'm starting to see why someone bashed your head in, is all."

"You should talk," Spike says hotly. "Sneaking around behind your crew's back with --" But the look on Simon's face is horrified enough that he cuts himself off. "Mayhem on your mind," he finishes lamely.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Zoe says.

Kaylee's afraid; Spike can smell it coming off her like waves.

"Everyone should just calm down." Simon steps close enough to Angel to peel hand and shirt away from his bleeding shoulder, and Angel steps back and lets go of Mal. "Is there anything you need?" It's as diplomatic a way as Spike can imagine to ask what he's asking.

"Spike can get it," Angel says.

Spike frowns. "Spike's holding two guns just now," he says. "And referring to himself in the third person, apparently."

"I thought your name was Will," Mal says.

"It was, once," Spike says.

"It still is," River says suddenly. She's looking at him. "It's still who you are."

God, spare him mad, insightful women. "Right, well, let's save that argument for another time."

"It isn't an argument," River says.

"Can't you shut her up?" Angel growls, wincing away from Simon's touch. Mal gives Angel what might be the first look of agreement between them.

"She isn't hurting anyone." Simon speaks the words absently, like he's heard it all before and doesn't pay any attention to it now. "Will? Maybe you could go get what it is that Liam needs."

"I'm holding the guns," Spike reminds him. When did this all get so bollocksed up?

"Well, give one of them to Liam."

"His name's Angel," Spike says.

"You could give one of them to me," Mal suggests, and when everyone turns to give him a look, he says, "In the interest of fairness."

"None of you get guns," Angel says.

"How about if we put all the guns away and just talk?" Kaylee's voice quavers. "You know, talk?"

"You're the ones who've been pulling triggers," Spike points out. "Not that there haven't been times I wanted to shoot Angel here myself."

"No more shooting!" Wash protests. "Shooting bad. Bleeding bad. Someone's going to have to clean that up, you know, and it'll probably be me." He gestures at Angel's blood on the floor.

"All right, that's enough." Angel shoves Simon's hand away from him. "Spike, you're with me. The rest of you stay here." He starts walking down the hallway.

"You think they don't have more guns stashed all over the place?" Spike calls after him.

"They've been on the ship for days and days," Kaylee says to Mal. "They didn't hurt anyone."

"What do you think that proves?" Mal asks. "And where the hell is Jayne?"

"Must be sleeping," Zoe says.

"Well, that's just great," Mal says, throwing his hands up in the air.

"If they wanted to hurt somebody, they could have done it a hundred times," Kaylee says. "While we were sleeping, even. Can't we give them the benefit of the doubt?"

Mal shifts his shoulders back and eyes Spike warily. "You a man of your word?"

"Not really," Spike says, and Angel comes back and whacks him in the shoulder with the back of one meaty hand. "Ow! What, I'm supposed to lie?"

"If it'll get this mess taken care of so I can go down to the cargo hold without having to worry about being shot again, _yes_ ," Angel says.

"Fine." Spike sighs and turns to Mal. "I give you my word we won't hurt anyone on this ship, all right? None of you." He gestures at Kaylee, who's looking a lot less scared now. "She's right. We could have killed you all in your sleep a dozen times over."

"Somehow I don't see how that's comforting," Mal says, but he nods and waves a hand at Angel. "Fine, go. But don't think we're not talking about this in the morning!"

"Yeah. And I'm sure you'll be sitting up all night with your gun in your lap." Spike throws a smirk in Simon's direction before he follows Angel and the path of blood droplets he's leaving in his wake.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


"Just sit still." Simon's taping a bandage onto Angel's shoulder.

"I am," Angel protests. It hurts, but he's had some blood and he can already feel things starting to knit together, in deep. There's hardly any point in bandaging it up other than the fact that it'll save another shirt from getting ruined.

"There." Simon steps back, surveying his handiwork. "How does it feel?"

"Like I got shot," Angel says sourly.

"You deserved it," Spike says. He's leaning against the wall over near the door, looking like he wants a cigarette. Angel glares at him and Spike rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on. You practically dared her to do it! What'd you think was gonna happen?"

"If nothing else, it proves that what you've been telling us is true." Simon goes over and washes his hands, deliberately not looking at Mal.

Mal, who's been silent since they got into the infirmary, says, "Yeah -- the bloodsucking undead things were telling the truth. Who'd have thought?"

Simon gives Mal a look that Angel thinks is taken to heart even if the expression on Mal's face doesn't change. "I tried to tell you."

"Well, excuse me if I found your tale a bit hard to swallow," Mal says.

"Unlike other things," Spike mutters.

Mal whirls around and points a finger in Spike's face. "You need to shut your trap before I shut it for you, boy. I've had just about enough of you."

"Gonna shoot me, too?" Spike asks.

"Can't say I wouldn't enjoy it," Mal tells him.

"No more shooting!" Simon looks and sounds annoyed. "If there is, I'll leave you all to doctor yourselves. This whole situation is absurd."

"You want to talk about absurd," Mal says. "What I want to know is, why are there two vampires on my boat?"

"We paid to be here," Spike says, but Mal shakes his head.

"I'm not arguing that. Why are you headed to Beylix? What sort of business you got there?"

Spike looks at Angel. Angel shrugs. Now that they know the biggest secret, is there really any point in keeping the rest under wraps?

"There's a girl," Spike says. "We got word she was there. We need to find her."

Mal sighs. "Of course there's a girl," he says. "It's always about a girl."

"Except when it's not," Spike says, glancing meaningfully at Simon, and Mal averts his eyes.

"She's like them," River says, peering around the edge of the doorway. "But she hurts people." She blinks, frowns. "She's like me."

"Mei mei, you don't hurt people," Simon tells her, his voice going soft and gentle.

"Not that," River says. When she shakes her head, her hair ripples. "She's crazy, like me. Sees things."

Simon looks at Angel. "She hallucinates? Is she ill?"

"You could say that." Spike gives a little bark of laughter, the kind that doesn't sound amused at all.

"That's not what I meant," River says. " _Sees things_. Knows things. Things she shouldn't know."

"She a Reader?" Mal asks.

"She's a vampire," Angel says bluntly. "A very dangerous, very old vampire, and if we don't find her and stop her, she's going to keep killing people the same way she has been for hundreds of years."

"And we're headed for where she is?" Simon shoots Mal a glance. "Captain..."

"Just because we're dropping these folks off at Beylix, that don't mean we got to spend any time there," Mal says.

"But --" Simon starts.

"No arguing," Mal tells him. "Trust me, best way to get this over with is to get these two off Serenity and head in the other direction, fast as we can."

Simon doesn't say anything else, but his eyes speak volumes, and River's... River's are wide with an understanding Angel doesn't want to think about too much.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Angel wants them to keep to themselves, after that, and Spike goes along with it. Not because Angel said so, 'course; more because Spike knows he's right about putting some distance, figurative if not literal, between them. No point in getting closer to these people, not when they're going to be leaving soon enough.

They set down on Beylix the next evening, a short distance from the nearest town. It's a small border moon, and it's likely Dru decided to settle here because of the moon's permanent cloud cover. Makes it safe for vampires, plus the population's dense enough and transient enough that it makes feeding simple.

"G'bye, pet," Spike says to River as he walks backward down the ramp.

"Not for long," River says, her voice calm and knowing, and Simon shushes her.

Spike doesn't say goodbye to anyone else, and neither does Angel. They head toward the lights on the other side of a thick crop of trees, Spike carrying the duffel bag that holds the last of their blood supply. He knows they're standing there, watching. He's careful not to turn his head to look back.

An hour later, they're in a bar drinking home-brewed liquor that tastes like piss and talking quietly to each other about Dru and how they're going to find her. It's might be a small moon, but it's big enough. "Not like it'll turn out she's staying here." The village they're in is tiny, strangers rare enough that people keep giving them funny looks, suspicious looks.

"She could be anywhere," Angel agrees, draining his glass and grimacing. "We'll just keep looking until we find her, that's all."

Would have been a sight easier on Serenity, Spike thinks but doesn't say. It's not like he blames Angel for wanting to get that bunch away from them and the danger they represent right now, even if to Angel they're just sheep for protecting. Spike's the one that sees them as people, individuals, and he wonders when that happened, because he hadn't meant it to.

These thoughts combined with the liquor make him maudlin, and by the time they leave the bar and head for the building on the outskirts of the village that's rumored to offer rooms for the night -- if you've got enough dosh, of course -- he's well into miserable. He doesn't even notice when Angel, walking in front of him, stops dead, and he crashes into him, then almost falls down. "What the --"

"It's still there," Angel says.

"What is?" Spike asks.

Angel turns and points. "The ship. Serenity. It didn't leave."

Looking, Spike can see it through the trees. Lights still on, ramp's still down.

"Something's wrong," Angel says needlessly, and they both break into a run.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Ship's sitting open to the world. They creep up the ramp and into the cargo bay, but there's no sign of anyone, no sounds Spike can hear no matter how hard he strains his ears. He's painfully aware of the echo of his boots on the metal deck.

"Captain wouldn't leave it sitting open like this," Angel whispers, completely unnecessarily.

"No shit, Sherlock." Spike knows he shouldn't make any more noise than he has to, but it's like instinct to poke fun at Angel -- he can't stop himself no matter how much he ought to. "Shipjackers, you think?"

"They'd be out of here by now," Angel says softly. They're creeping toward the stairs at the back of the cargo bay. "Unless they already killed the whole crew and are just taking stock. Still, you'd think they wouldn't leave an open door unguarded --"

Which, of course, they wouldn't -- whoever _they_ were -- which is why that's the exact second that Spike and Angel get jumped by half a dozen blokes. Vampires, to be exact. It's the most vampires Spike's seen together in a few hundred years, at least, and he's barely got time to finish that thought before one gets his arms pinned behind him and another punches him hard enough in the stomach that if he needed to breathe it would have knocked the air right out of his lungs. Still hurts like hell, though.

He wriggles an arm free and elbows the vamp holding his arms hard in the solar plexus, which loosens his hold even more. Spike manages to duck just in time for the vampire aiming a second swing at him to miss and hit the one behind him instead.

"Yeah!" Spike shouts, jerking free and wrenching what he hopes is a not-too-important pipe free from the wall. Makes a great weapon. He bashes one of the vamps over the head and the other in the gut, then whirls and hits one of the ones Angel's fighting with. His aim's off, though, and he hits shoulder instead of skull.

"You... fight like a girl," Angel gasps. Been hit in the face a few times, by the looks of it; there's blood running down beside his eye and his lip's split.

Spike growls, "See if I ever help _you_ again," but does. At least, he does until another vampire, this one wearing a long, brown coat like the one Mal was wearing when they met, tackles him, taking him right to the floor. Spike's head bounces against the metal deck material, the sound of it ringing in his ears.

"Don't kill them," an unfamiliar voice says, and brown-coat grabs hold of Spike's collar and slams his head to the floor again.

This time, something in Spike's skull gives, there's a flare of pain like a gunshot, and everything goes black.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Angel gets distracted when he realizes that Spike is unconscious; it doesn't take long after that for the other vampires to subdue him. He gets hit on the head hard enough that he hardly knows what's going on for a few minutes, and by the time he recovers he discovers he and Spike are locked in a little room -- he's not sure where.

He checks the door first, but it locks from the outside. A few experimental body slams against it assure him it isn't going to budge, so he turns his attention to Spike, who's crumpled in a heap on the floor, unmoving.

Angel should have gotten used to what a sleeping vampire looks like by now -- utterly still, no steady rise and fall of the chest to indicate breathing. Or maybe he has and it's just that Spike is so rarely still unless he's sleeping off too much liquor. Either way, something in Angel's chest clenches when he can't get Spike to respond. Even a sharp slap to Spike's face doesn't rouse him.

"Never around when I need you," Angel tells him. It's unfair, and he feels guilty for saying it even though Spike can't hear him.

He sits with his back to the wall and Spike's head cushioned on his thigh, waiting. He waits for a long time; he's on the verge of dozing when he hears the sound of footsteps outside. Footsteps that are strangely familiar.

The door opens and two vampires peer in, checking to make sure they aren't going to get jumped right off the bat. Seeing Angel sitting on the floor and Spike knocked out, they step back to make room for a woman with long skirts who says, "Hello, Daddy. I've been waiting for you."

Drusilla.

She's as beautiful as ever. The sides of her long, dark hair are pulled back, exposing cheekbones and full lips in addition to her all-seeing eyes. Her dress is long and blood-red -- she always did have a thing for that color -- and she's meeting his gaze in a haughty but pleased way. It's an expression that's all hers, one that he's seen in his dreams and not too few of his nightmares.

"Doesn't seem like much of a welcome," Angel says, making sure he keeps his tone casual. Dru can read people effortlessly, and if he's not careful, she'll know everything in his head.

"You've been very naughty," Dru says, gliding into the room with two of her henchman lurking behind her. She waves her index finger back and forth like a metronome. "Very. Naughty. Did you think I wouldn't know?"

Angel sighs and shifts his weight, then lowers Spike's head gently to the floor before standing up. "But you always liked me best when I was bad." He circles her slowly, not making any sudden moves.

"That was when you were my true daddy." Dru pouts. "Now you aren't any better than the rest of them. Your soul's all anchored back in your body like a nasty, filthy thing."

"But you're still my girl," Angel tells her. "You'll always be my girl."

Dru laughs, then gets a pained look, threading her fingers into her hair and closing her eyes. "Poor, poor Spike. His head's all on fire. Burning... burning... the darkness, it's taking him..." She whimpers. Her henchmen, Angel notes, look distinctly unimpressed. They've probably heard this a hundred times before.

Angel finds himself glancing over at Spike, though, and he has to admit even to himself that it looks like there might be something wrong. _Really_ wrong. "You, um, love Spike, don't you, Dru?"

She gives him a doubtful look like she thinks this might be some sort of trap, then nods slowly.

"He's hurt," Angel says. "Seriously hurt, and I'm not sure he's going to wake up -- ever -- unless we get him some help. There's a doctor." A hopefully-still-alive doctor.

"The one with the dark hair." Dru sighs and smiles dreamily. "He's a lovely boy, isn't he?Simon, Simon, met a pie man, going to the fair..." She spins in a slow circle, her skirts flaring out, and when she stops she fixes her intense gaze on one of her henchmen. "Get him."

The vampire, who's short and stocky, nods and disappears, and another one that had been lurking out in the hallway steps into the room. Not taking any chances, Angel thought. Dru might be crazy, but she isn't crazy enough to underestimate him.

"My poor Spike," Dru says, seeming to forget about Simon as she kneels beside Spike and strokes his hair. "Don't worry -- Mummy's going to make everything all better."

Angel clears his throat, then says, "So, Dru... whatcha been up to?"

She doesn't meet his gaze, but she answers anyway. "I've been building my family. All the little children, and I'm their mummy. We take care of each other."

Yeah -- that's what Dru had always wanted, a family. Even if she had to blackmail them into it. "Lot of people on this rock." He crouches next to her; the closer you get to Dru, the easier it is to connect with her.

"So many souls," she says dreamily. Her fingers are still carding through Spike's hair, and Angel feels the urge to shove her hand away. He doesn't, though. "I'm setting them free."

"Free from what?" Angel knows he shouldn't ask, because he's probably not going to like the answer, but somehow he can't help himself. He ends up spellbound by her, just like everyone else.

"From their souls," Dru spits, standing up and looking down at him with a fierce expression. "Filthy, nasty things like yours. Stopping you from becoming."

Angel sighs and stands, too. "So that's what you've been doing? Setting them free by killing them?"

"Except for the ones I keep," Dru says. She glides over to the taller of the two henchmen, the one wearing what Angel is pretty sure by the scent of it is Mal's coat. "They're the lucky ones." She draws the vampire down into a passionate kiss, but Angel notices the vamp doesn't put his arms around her. Not _too_ stupid, then. Smart enough not to think he's got any chance of being the one in control here.

Smart enough to know if anyone can get him what he wants -- namely, as much blood and torture as possible -- it's Dru. She's a vampire's fucking wet dream.

"I can see that," Angel says as she turns to look at him again.

"You _remember_ ," Dru tells him intently. "You remember what it was like to rule the world. Minions kneeling at your feet. The world was our playground, Daddy. You pushed me on the swings and the stars whispered in our ears, telling us all... the secrets... of the universe."

"That's a lot of secrets," Angel says. It makes sense that Dru is out here, on the furthest reaches of the 'verse, for more than just the lack of sunlight. She's always been obsessed with the stars -- now she can dance among them in a more literal way than she ever could have on Earth-that-was.

"Millions," Dru agrees. "Billions, trillions..." She's spinning in a circle again, but stops when they both hear the sound of approaching footsteps. "Oh, goody!" She claps her hands. "It's the doctor! Don't worry, Spike, he's going to make everything all better."

Simon comes in. He's pale and his lower lip is split, the skin around it swollen and purpling. His eyes meet Angel's, and then fall to Spike. As soon as he takes in what's going on, it's like a switch has been flicked -- he ignores the other vampires and goes to Spike, dropping down onto his knees. "What happened to him?"

"I don't know," Angel says. "But he won't wake up."

Hands sliding into Spike's hair, Simon mutters, "He has a depression here. A fresh skull fracture. What the hell is _wrong_ with you people?" This last sentence is directed at Dru and her posse.

"Can you fix it?" Angel asks anxiously. Fuck, just what Spike needs, more of his brain sliced up and damaged by bits of bone being shoved into it.

"I don't know." Simon pries Spike's eyelid up and checks his pupil. "I don't even know what it would be like to operate on someone who's already dead. Or how he'd heal afterwards."

Dru is pouting again, never a good sign. In this case, though, Angel can't complain too much, because what she says is, "But I want my Spike back. It's not the same without him."

Simon blinks and comes out of the half-trance that's doctor mode. "I'll do what I can."

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


"I'll need someone to assist." Simon is moving efficiently around the infirmary, getting things out of drawers. Spike is already stretched out on the bed, unmoving, and there's a crowd of Dru's henchmen loitering just outside.

"I can do that," Shepherd Book offers. "As long as it's not too complicated, of course. I'm no expert, but I've done my fair share of doctoring when there wasn't a professional available."

"That would be great," Simon tells him.

Kaylee, who's been hanging out in the area outside the infirmary with the others, all of them carefully watched by Dru's henchmen, peers through the doorway. "Is he gonna be okay?"

Simon looks up at her, his expression serious. "I hope so." He turns his attention to Dru; she's gliding around the room and has picked up some kind of medical instrument. "I'll need privacy. I have to be able to concentrate -- otherwise there's too much risk involved. I --"

"Chirp, chirp," Dru says. "The little bird won't stop singing." She sounds angry, but the look she turns toward Simon is joyfully predatory and she deliberately pricks her finger on the sharp tip of the instrument she's holding, then licks the blood that wells up. "Will there be blood?"

Simon blinks, thinking. "Yes. But you can't be here."

Pouting, Dru sucks the tip of her finger between her dark red lips. "You're no fun."

"What about the Captain?" Kaylee says. Mal is unconscious, which Angel figures is the only thing keeping him quiet.

"Keep an eye on him for me." Simon is focused on what he's doing and doesn't look up, but his voice is strained. "If he has a seizure, or vomits, come and tell me." 

Kaylee goes away.

"No fun at all," Dru says, complaining. "I want to watch."

Simon is stubborn, though. "Well, you can't, unless you want to risk me turning his brain into --" He makes a frustrated sound and his eyes flash with anger, and Angel thinks he can see what Mal and Spike saw in him. "Into more of a mess than it already is." He sighs. "Look, you want him to recover, don't you?"

Dru, pouting again, says, "Yes. But I'll be bored. I need someone to play with." She turns her head and looks out through the doorway. "One of the girls, I think."

"No," Angel says. He's the one who got them all into this, so they're his responsibility now. "Me."

An expression of delight and anticipation spreads across Dru's face. It's one Angel has seen a thousand times; he can remember when it had made him smile in return, but now he has to force his lips to curve into what's probably more like a grimace. "Daddy," Dru purrs. "You still love your little girl, don't you." She comes closer and circles him, long fingernails trailing over the bare skin of his neck.

Angel steels himself, then grabs onto her and pushes her against the nearest wall, one hand between her legs. "Let's go... somewhere private," he suggests in a low voice as Dru throws back her head and laughs, her reaction keeping the other vampires from pulling Angel off of her.

"Don't want to put on a show?" Dru asks. "All right. But just this once."

He's pretty sure Dru's henchmen won't do anything without her permission -- she's the type to rule with an iron fist -- so he feels okay about going off to a nearby room with her. Not great, but okay. Actually, even 'okay' might be stretching it, because he knows what's going to happen next, and it won't be fun. But if it keeps Serenity's crew safe for as long as it takes, and gives Simon enough time to get inside Spike's head, it'll be worth it.

He hopes.

Dru kisses like death, her lips cold in ways Spike's never are, the perfume she's wearing wafting around him in a faint cloud of funereal flowers. As much as he wishes he didn't have to do this, there's a part of him that loves it. If he can just set aside the rest and focus on that part, this will be a lot less like torture.

But it isn't until she bites his lip, drawing blood, that the switch is flipped. Then he's able to pretend the soul doesn't exist, to throw caution to the wind and Dru down onto the floor, a hand pushing up underneath her skirts to her dripping cunt. He slides two fingers into her and swallows her mewls of pleasure with his mouth. "This what you've been missing, baby?" he growls into her ear, twisting the fingers of his other hand into her hair. "My poor girl, all alone..."

"All alone," Dru agrees. "So sad, wanting you. Wanting my family back."

"We're your real family," Angel tells her as he undoes the front of his trousers and rocks back onto his heels, lifting her with him. She settles around him, gravity fucking her with Angel's cock. "Me and Spike. That's what you want -- the three of us together again." He knows how to talk to her -- he isn't without his own magic, when it comes right down to it, and if he can convince her, if he can weave this spell believably enough, it might give him the upper hand.

Angel grabs onto the neckline of Dru's dress and yanks sharply, and the fabric tears five or six inches, baring her breasts. Her nipple is a taut bead against his palm as he wraps his hand around her right breast and squeezes, and he feels her tighten around his cock at the same time. He can fuck her as hard as he wants to; the harder the better. She's always liked it rough.

She's smiling, her knees lifting off the floor with each of his upward thrusts, head thrown back in abandon. The position leaves the pale column of her throat exposed, and that more than anything else is proof that Angel's spell is working -- Dru trusts him.

"Oh, Daddy..."

He doesn't waste time teasing her; instead, he takes her over the edge three times before he lets himself come, too, and he bites her when he does. She shudders and wails, the sound changing pitch as she starts to laugh.

"That's my girl," Angel says, and kisses her.

She looks at him almost demurely from beneath her lashes as they straighten their clothes, then her eyes widen. "Spike! My poor Spike."

"I'm sure he's fine." Angel can't imagine Simon's finished the surgery already. He should do what he can to keep Dru distracted as long as possible, so he sits on the bunk and pats it. "Come on -- tell me all the mayhem you've been up to since the last time I saw you."

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


A vicious, desperate hunger propels Spike up and out of the dark. His head hurts like it's been cracked open and then clumsily put back together again, but that's nothing compared to the aching hunger. It eclipses everything else, pushing the meaning of sounds and the crisp assault of light and color when he opens his eyes away, making them meaningless. All he wants is blood, and all he can smell is blood close by, hot and thrumming under warm skin, and he's going to have it.

He's weak; his limbs feel clumsy and half-asleep. But he's a vampire, which means he's faster and stronger than any human, and even blind and deaf he's able to grab onto the nearest living body. They overbalance and go to the floor together, Spike's fall cushioned by the body beneath his, and then his teeth are breaking skin and the fantastic rush of blood explodes into his mouth.

As he drinks, his strength starts to return, and with it the rest of his senses. He's aware of shouting, rough hands pulling at him, the small, lushly curved body under him struggling, heart beating way too fast. Not that he can _do_ anything with any of it, because he's still too hungry to do anything but swallow.

Then he hears, very distinctly, his name, and someone much stronger than him lifts him away from his food. He growls, starving, no more than an animal in this state, but the vampire -- it has to be a vampire -- holding him is familiar somehow.

"Here," the voice says. "Drink."

It's a forearm being pressed against his lips, and Spike wants the throat, where the skin is so soft and the blood pumps like wildfire. He arches, trying to switch positions, to take control, but he's not strong enough and then he gets a taste of it, the slick of blood across his tongue.

That's all it takes -- he's so hungry that the blood itself is what he wants more than any other part of the experience. He clutches the arm to him, feeding from the inside of the elbow where the veins are close to the skin.

"There," the familiar voice says, and Spike feels a hand cradling his skull gently, holding his head together. "I've got you."

A feeling of peace steals over Spike, and slowly, gradually he relaxes, his swallows becoming more spaced out, less desperate.

"Is she okay?" Angel asks, and Spike opens his eyes.

As soon as what he's seeing makes sense, he lets go of Angel's arm and shoves himself upright, scrambles back against the nearest wall. He's still reflexively licking blood from his lips, but manages to say, "What the bloody hell is going on?"

A couple of yards away, Simon is on his knees next to Kaylee. "It's okay," he tells her. "You're all right -- it's not serious." She's still breathing hard, though, as Simon holds a bandage to her throat, and Spike feels sick as the taste of Angel's blood in his mouth fades and lets what has to be Kaylee's through.

"I'm sorry." Spike says it automatically. "I didn't mean to. I don't -- what happened?" The question is directed Angel, who's still sitting there, one hand wrapped around his bleeding forearm.

"When we came back to the ship," Angel says, but stops when he sees Spike's answering frown. "What?"

"Came back from where?" They'd left the ship? He can't remember that.

"It's not uncommon with head injuries," Simon tells them. "Memory loss. It might come back -- it's hard to say."

There's a shadow from the doorway, and Spike looks up to see Mal leaning against the metal frame. "Everybody okay in here?" he asks. His voice is hoarse. "Kaylee? Simon?"

"Everyone's fine." Simon looks at him, clearly worried. "How are you? I think you should lie down."

"Doesn't make this headache any better," Mal says. There are vamps Spike doesn't recognize on either side of him. "How's he?" He nods at Spike.

"Confused," Angel says.

Simon nods. "But conscious, which is more than we could have hoped for so soon after surgery."

"Wait, now there was surgery?" Spike thinks that'd explain how his own head feels.

"We left the ship to look for Dru," Angel says. "Then we came back when we saw they were still here. Got jumped by some of Dru's cronies and you got your skull shattered. Again."

"Yeah. Feels like it." Spike runs his hand over the bandaged area gingerly. "Put Humpty Dumpty together again, did you?" he asks Simon, who nods. "Thanks, mate."

"I was able to relieve the pressure on your brain," Simon explains. "There's no telling if I was able to resolve the previous problem, though."

"For now, I'll take what I can get," Spike says, meaning it. It's not like he hadn't got used to the headaches, much as he hates them. But being awake's better than being dust, or a total vegetable, come to think of it. He eyes the strange vamps suspiciously. "Some of Dru's?"

Angel nods. "Yeah. They're keeping us down here for now, I guess. Until Dru figures out what she wants to do next."

"Smells to me like she already knows," Spike says, aiming his voice for Angel's ears only. Now that things are settling into place, he can smell Dru all over Angel. It stirs up a whole bunch of feelings he's not sure he understands. "Wants us, doesn't she."

Nodding again, Angel says, "She has this idea we can be a family again."

"Scour the 'verse leaving destruction in our wake," Spike agrees. "So we've got to sort out how to get her off this boat and away from this lot."

Simon gets Kaylee sitting upright against the wall; when she looks at Spike, her gaze is wary. It hurts to see it, but it's not like Spike can blame her.

"I'm sorry," he says again, because he should and because he's hoping, probably in vain, that he can talk himself back into her good graces. "I was out of my head. Didn't know what I was doing."

"I know," Kaylee says. She takes over holding the cloth Simon's got pressed to her throat, pushing his hands out of the way. "I've got it, Simon. It's okay -- you're sick. You didn't do it on purpose."

"It's my fault." Simon swallows and stands up. "He lost a lot of blood during the surgery, and I didn't think what that might do. I should have --"

"Not like you ever operated on no vampire before," Mal says. He's still leaning in the doorway, and now has a distinctly green tinge. Looks like he's going to pass out any minute, and Spike thinks the vamps flanking him'll just let him fall.

Spike glances at Angel, but Angel's already on his feet and moving toward Mal. "Sit down before you don't have any choice in the matter," Angel says, and guides Mal toward the bunk that's against the wall.

"Don't need help from you," Mal says, but his words are slurring. Simon crosses the room and he and Angel push Mal down prone, Simon checking his eyes before Angel's even done lifting his feet up onto the bed.

"Shh," Simon soothes. "Easy."

Mal groans and flinches away from Simon's touch. "Nothing easy about this."

"Well, you're certainly not helping matters. I told you to lie down, didn't I?" Simon seems to decide he's spent enough time faffing about and takes charge. "You," he says, gesturing at the vampires still loitering near the door, "Get the lights. Liam, could you please get Will back up onto the other bunk so I can monitor his condition? Kaylee, stay where you are for now, until I can put a real bandage on that."

Obeying like the sod he is, Angel hauls Spike to his feet and sits him on the bunk in the center of the room. Being moved around, and none too gently, sets Spike's head pounding again, and he's grateful to be able to lie back and close his eyes for a few minutes. He can hear people moving around, and Simon's soft voice as he doctors Mal and then Kaylee before laying a warm hand on Spike's shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" Simon asks.

Spike forces his eyes to open and his lips to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. "Like my head's been broken open and my brains scrambled all about."

"That's not too far from what happened." Simon's got a little machine that beeps -- at least it doesn't go *ping* -- and apparently it hasn't got any bad news about Spike's health. "Everything looks good, though I suspect it will be some time before you feel back to normal again."

Angel snorts. "Normal?"

"Shut up, wanker," Spike says, with no heat and little energy, and shortly after that he falls asleep.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Even with Spike and Mal sleeping in the infirmary, the place feels too crowded. Maybe it's all the time they've spent on the ship, but Angel's feeling a little claustrophobic. He almost wishes Dru would come back from her gallivanting -- she's taken a female vampire off with her to explore the ship -- so they could do something, anything. Whatever's going to come next.

He goes out into the room beyond the infirmary, where Kaylee, still pale, is curled up on one end of the sofa. Zoe and Wash are sitting on the other end; the Shepherd's sitting on the floor and Jayne's on a chair with his hands tied behind his back. Got a nice bruise coming up on the side of his face, too.

"Is he okay?" Kaylee asks, and Angel's not even sure who she's talking about. He wants to think she's not sweet enough to be asking about Spike.

"Everybody's okay," Angel tells her. "Well, everybody in there. What about you?"

Her hand goes to her bandaged throat. "I'll live." Then she goes paler and says anxiously, "I will, won't I? I won't, I mean --"

"No, you won't," Angel says quickly. "It doesn't work like that."

"Oh. Good." Relieved, Kaylee relaxes again, letting the arm of the couch cushion her head. "Not that it would be so terrible, I guess..."

"It would be," River says. "Thirsty all the time, and the sunshine's like poison." She gazes up at the ceiling dreamily. "I'd miss the sun."

Great, Angel thinks. _Two_ crazy women, just what Serenity needs.

"We were playing Tic Tac Toe," Wash says brightly, gesturing at a scrap of paper on his knee. "Want to play?"

Angel's scanning the room, trying to calculate how many vampires Dru's got with her and the chances he'll be able to overpower them. "No, thanks."

"Sure you do," Wash says. "I'll go first." He scribbles on the paper, then shoves it and a colored pencil in Angel's hand.

"I don't want to play --" Angel starts, irritated, but Wash widens his eyes. "Oh. Right. Tic tac toe." He looks at the paper, which has 'Inara' written on it. Glancing around, he sees that none of the vamps are paying much attention to them. He sits on another chair, close to Wash and Zoe, and asks in a whisper, "Where is she?"

"We don't know. She must have been in her shuttle when they came aboard," Zoe whispers back. "Might still be there."

Which means there's a chance Dru will find her. Angel has never been inside Inara's shuttle, but he's looked through the doorway and knows it's exactly the sort of place that would appeal to Dru. On the other hand, if Inara is aware of the ship having been boarded, she's probably got the shuttle locked up tight -- whether Dru will see a locked door as mildly confusing and move on or as an annoying puzzle that has to be solved is another question Angel doesn't have the answer to.

"I hope she has enough sense to stay where she is," Angel says grimly.

"So do I," Shepherd Book says.

"But maybe they aren't that bad," Kaylee protests. "I mean, they haven't killed anybody. What do you think they want?"

"Them," River says, face turned toward the wall. Her hands are very still at her sides. "She wants her family back, whether they want to come or not."

"How does she _know_ stuff like that?" Jayne asks. "And hey, if you guys are playing Tic tac toe, can I play?"

He looks hopeful, but Angel's attention is on River.

"Can you see anything else?" he asks. "Other stuff she's thinking?"

River looks solemn. "She wants to go back to the stars," she says.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Simon's right there when Spike opens his eyes again, but there's no sign of the other vampires. He parts his lips and inhales, ready to speak, and Spike fumbles a hand up to Simon's mouth, shakes his head. Curls fingers into the hair at the nape of Simon's neck and tugs him down to whisper in his ear.

"Where'd they go?"

"They're out in the hallway," Simon whispers back. "Do you want me to check?"

"Yeah, if you can." Spike shuts his eyes and concentrates on what he can hear, but it's pretty muddled up. Too many sounds, what with the humans and the vampires and the noises that come from the ship itself. Simon steps out of the infirmary, his boots easily audible on the metal decking.

"How's he doing?" Angel asks.

Like he cares, Spike thinks.

Simon clears his throat, then says, "He's still sleeping. It will be some time before he's fully recovered. I think. Actually, you'd know better than I would."

"Believe it or not, I don't have much experience with brain injuries," Angel says; Spike suppresses a snort.

"How's everyone else?" Simon asks. "Does anyone need anything? River, are you all right?"

She makes a non-committal sound. Spike can't tell what she's doing by any of the sounds out there.

"Well, I'm going to check on the captain again." Simon comes back into the infirmary and goes over to where Mal's asleep -- or maybe unconscious. Spends a little too much time touching Mal for someone just pretending, Spike thinks, though that doesn't come as a surprise. When he returns to Spike's bedside, he bends low and checks Spike's eyes, whispers, "Three to the left and two to the right, but there are more missing."

"Right," Spike says. "Think you can create a diversion out there long enough for me to slip away while no one's looking?"

Simon bites his lower lip, then nods. "What happens when they notice you're gone?"

"You stay out there 'til they do, so you don't get the blame," Spike tells him. It's been a long time since he cared what happened to anyone specific but himself, but now he does. He's not sure that's a good thing.

"Inara," Simon whispers. "She isn't here with the rest of us. She might be on her shuttle, I don't know."

Spike doesn't nod -- no point in making his head hurt any more than it has to. "See if I can find her, then. Be careful, right? Don't take chances."

"Oh, I won't." Simon gives him a brief smile, but his eyes are vague like he's looking at something far away. And he's gone again, speaking quietly to the others outside. His voice drops to a whisper that Spike can hear but not translate into anything meaningful, and a few seconds later rises into a confrontational shout. "What? What did you just say?"

Jayne's voice, equally loud but also confused. "I -- made a rude and thoroughly predictable comment that was an insult to your sister?" It's one of the least convincing things Spike has ever heard, but maybe it'll do.

"How _dare_ you say something like that?" Simon's really going for it, projecting what's probably fifteen years worth of suppressed irritation and genuine anger into his performance, and Spike wishes it were real, wishes that he and Simon were alone and he could give all that spark somewhere to go.

"Yeah, well --" Jayne hesitates, tries again. "Could say a lot worse, couldn't I."

River murmurs something, soft and confused, and Spike can hear Zoe mutter a response. River laughs, her voice young and light-hearted.

"There, you see?" Jayne says. "Crazy!"

"You -- _ni hun qiu_ \--" Simon breaks off, and there's the sound of fist hitting what's probably cheekbone. Jayne curses back, something wooden splinters -- being a vampire as long as he has, Spike is intimately familiar with the sound _that_ makes -- and then everything becomes a blur as there's a scuffle Spike can't even enjoy properly because he's too busy sneaking out of the infirmary and up the stairs while the two vamps that'd been guarding that hallway are distracted by the fight.

At least Angel's there to keep anyone from getting hurt.

They've been on Serenity long enough that Spike knows his way around, and it doesn't take long for him to work his way over to where Inara's shuttle tucks itself neatly in against the bigger ship's hull. He can't hear anything from inside -- the Companion's smart enough to realize she needs to keep quiet. But the door's locked and there's no way he's getting inside without either making a hell of a lot of noise (and even then he's not convinced he could break down the door) or making enough to get Inara to open up for the Big Bad Wolf, which might well attract the attention of Dru and her substitute family.

He decides to change it anyway. Inara knows the ship far better than he does, and she can help him sort out what to do next. There might even be ways to monitor what's going on in different parts of the ship, if he's lucky.

Quiet as he can, he taps on Inara's door, wincing inside at the clanking sound it makes. Maybe if he does it without a rhythm, anyone other than Inara will think it's normal ship's noise. He taps a few more times, then whispers, "It's Will. Let me in."

 _Not by the hair of his chinny chin chin_ , he thinks, because there's no way she can hear him through all this steel, but to his surprise the door opens a crack a moment later and one of Inara's eyes appears, wide and worried.

"I'm alone," Spike reassures her. "Let me in."

She does, stepping back to give him room, then bolting the door firmly behind him.

"What's happening?" she asks. "Has the ship been hijacked?" The dress she's wearing isn't formal, but the artful cut of it, the opulent fabric, makes the fact that it's slipped down off her shoulder to reveal her creamy skin all the more appealing. Looks like she's just got out of bed, which is one of Spike's favorite looks on a woman.

"Yeah," he says. His head is aching relentlessly, but it's still better than the blasted headaches he used to get, the ones he's hoping might be a thing of the past.

Inara frowns; even in disarray and danger, she's beautiful. "You're hurt."

"Less than I used to be," Spike says. "Or at least that's the idea. Any way to monitor what's going on in the rest of the ship from here?"

She shakes her head slightly. "Who are they? What do they want?"

"You know the vampire we came here looking for? Drusilla?" Spike gives Inara a look. "It's her. Guess we weren't the only ones looking."

"What do we do now?"

Spike huffs out air and tries to think. "Whatever it is, we'd better do it fast. Once they find out I'm missing, their guard'll be up." He looks around her shuttle. "You got any weapons?"

"Yes." She says it as if the thought hadn't even occurred to her, which Spike finds hard to believe. "Some guns. Drugs. Would those work?"

"Depends on what kind of drugs we're talking about."

"Sedatives," Inara says. "For -- well. They're sedatives."

For taking the edge off any clients who might be a little too rowdy, Spike thinks. "Doubt we'll get the chance to slip anyone anything without their knowledge, but best give 'em to me anyway. Nothing else?"

She presses a packet into his hand and hesitates.

"Come on, pet," he says. "No holding back."

Inara wets her lips and her eyes dart to a small table near the bed before they meet Spike's again. "Poison," she says in a low voice, and doesn't move from the spot she's rooted to like the world's most exquisite tree. "A kind of poison. It's... complicated."

"I'm getting that," Spike agrees. "Complicated how?"

"If someone were to inject it into their bloodstream, it wouldn't kill them. It wouldn't make them sick, or, at least, not too sick to do... whatever they had to do." She licks her lips again, the nervous habit of a woman not prone to nerves. "But if someone were to... violate them..."

Spike can see where she's going with this. "Goes into the blood. Hard to say what that'd do to a vampire, though."

"I don't know what would happen." Inara moves, finally, going to the bedside table and retrieving a small box, black with some pearl-white designs on it. She brings it back to Spike and opens it, revealing a syringe and a vial of dark liquid. "I could --" But she doesn't sound convinced, and Spike's not willing to risk her either way.

"No, love," he tells her gently, and closes his hand around her slender fingers. "I'll do it. If it works, great. If not -- well, I'll have to sort out something else." He sits on the edge of her bed. "Come on; tell me what I need to know about the ship."

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Something about the fight -- something subtle but suspicious -- tells Angel it's staged, and his conviction doesn't waver even when Simon takes advantage of Jayne's hands being tied and hits him hard enough to knock over the chair he's sitting on. The chair breaks and Jayne curses colorfully before struggling to his feet. He gets a hand free and swings at Simon, who gets lucky and manages to duck and not get clobbered.

River, who obviously doesn't realize that the whole thing's meant to be a distraction, looks upset. Kaylee does, too, and says, "Stop them! Zoe!"

Zoe's trying not to grin, but by that time Dru's henchmen are all around them, not seeming to know if they should break up the fight or choose sides.

Then Angel realizes that blood is flowing, and that they're all better off avoiding that. "All right, you two," he says, grabbing onto a now-flailing Simon and lifting his feet just about off the floor. "Cool it."

"What _are_ you?" one of Dru's female vampires asks, looking annoyed and disgusted. "Just when things were starting to get interesting. Why'd you have to go and spoil all the fun?"

"You want to waste all this perfectly good blood all over the floor?" Angel says, then hears his own words at the same time they sink in with Simon. He sets the doctor back down, letting him find his balance but not letting go of him in case the fight's not really over. "Where's Drusilla?" Best to change the subject and get their minds off the fact that they're on a ship -- still grounded, sure. but isolated all the same -- with a bunch of humans they don't see as much more than food.

A tall vamp with his hair pulled back frowns. "We don't keep tabs on our mistress's whereabouts."

"Which is another way of saying she doesn't tell you," Shepherd Book says.

"Let go of me." Simon struggles in Angel's grasp, and Angel lets him go.

Angel wishes he could ask Simon what's going on, because it's obvious there's _something_ going on, but he can't without Dru's vampires finding out, too, and he's pretty sure that whatever the plan is, that's not part of it.

" _Qing wa cao de liu mang_ ," Jayne mutters, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth and glaring at Simon.

Simon glares right back at him and utters a few choice curse words of his own, and Kaylee's eyes go wide.

"Simon!" she says. "You swore!"

The doctor flushes and straightens up, shoulders back. "Sometimes the occasion calls for it," he says.

"And sometimes it don't," Mal's voice says, and they all turn to look at him where he's leaning in the infirmary doorway. "Since I've been unconscious again, I don't rightly know which kind of occasion this is. Someone want to fill me in?"

"I will," Simon offers hastily, and goes to him. "You shouldn't be up."

"Shouldn't be getting the _go se_ beat out of me, either, but the 'verse doesn't seem to be stopping that none," Mal complains as Simon shuffles him back to the bed he'd abandoned, and Angel sees that the other bed is empty. But where's Spike, if --

Oh.

He goes and lurks in the infirmary doorway, doing what he can to block the empty bed from view of the other vamps. He's aware of hunger gnawing at him -- healing up a gunshot wound takes it out of him every time -- and he knows there won't be an opportunity to feed any time soon, which is going to become a problem, especially if they're going to have to fight their way out of this.

Angel knows Spike is trying to get at Dru, and hopes Spike can figure out a way to do it that won't result in any of Serenity's crew dead.

"Open your eyes," Simon is telling Mal.

"Head hurts," Mal complains, but obeys, and Simon checks his pupils.

"I think you're all right, but you'll feel better faster if you stop getting up." Simon is resting a hand on Mal's upper arm in a way that seems strangely intimate.

Mal frowns. "I'll feel better fastest if we can get these _ching soh_ monsters off my ship. You got any ideas on that?" The question is directed at Angel.

"It'd be easier if someone hadn't shot me," Angel says pointedly.

Simon straightens up, looking concerned, and comes over to Angel. "Are you still in pain?"

"Not really, but healing up from this kind of thing usually requires extra blood for a few days, and somehow I don't think Dru's friends out there are going to be too keen on the idea of letting me go down to the cargo bay to get some." Angel submits to Simon's doctoring, which doesn't require anything more than some gentle prodding at the mostly-healed wound.

"You need blood." Simon says it slowly and thoughtfully, and Mal glares at him.

"Don't even think about it," Mal says.

"I don't need to get your permission, _Captain_." Simon gives Mal a cool look. "But maybe I can talk them into letting me go down to the cargo bay." Angel steps aside to give Simon room to pass by.

"Not him," Mal says as soon as Simon is gone. "If it'll make a difference in getting us out of this mess, okay -- Jayne, maybe, or even me. But not Simon. _Dong ma_?"

Angel figures he'll feed from Simon if Simon offers, but the issue right then is getting himself back to full strength so he has some chance of overpowering Dru's vamps, not where the blood comes from. "Are you offering?"

Mal probably can't hear the conversation Simon is having with the vampires, but he glances in that direction anyway like he's calculating how much time they have. "Yeah," he says. "Just make it quick."

Walking slowly over to the bed where Mal's been lying down, Angel sets a hand on Mal's knee at the same time Mal sits up, thighs parting with the movement. Angel pushes that knee to the right another couple of inches, giving himself a little more room. "Are you sure?"

"Not seeing where I've got much choice in the matter," Mal says hoarsely.

"You do," Angel tells him. "There are other ways out of this." His gaze is drawn to the side of Mal's throat, where the jugular lies just under the skin, full of hot blood just waiting for him. He lifts his eyes to meet Mal's, and Mal nods slowly, surely.

Leaning in, Angel slides into game face and bites Mal, making it quick. Mal jerks, startled, and Angel grabs onto the base of Mal's skull with one hand, steadying him. He can hear Mal's heartbeat, rapid and strong, and he can feel it under his thumb as he swallows a few mouthfuls of blood. Mal goes from tense to turned on in the space between breaths; Angel slides his other hand from Mal's knee up along his thigh to his cock, hard under the leather trousers, and Mal inhales sharply.

Angel can't murmur anything with his fangs sunk into Mal's throat, so he has to talk with his hands. He's better at that, actually. Fingertips trace the length of Mal's erection, palm cradles the solid curve of Mal's skull. Tongue slicks wetly across the tender, sensitive skin of Mal's neck, making him tremble. If they'd had a little more privacy, Angel would have undone the front of Mal's trousers and jerked him off, but even as he's thinking that, Simon's footsteps are faltering behind him.

"What the _guai_ do you think you're doing?" Simon asks sharply, and Angel pulls back, licking his lips.

"He'll need a bandage on that," he says, gesturing at Mal's throat.

Simon is already getting one and bringing it over to the bed, holding it to the wound. "You couldn't give me a few minutes to organize something?"

It's hard to know who he's asking the question to, but Mal answers. "Didn't think I'd approve of what you organized."

"Well, it's good to know you have so much faith in me." Simon sounds frustrated. "As it turns out, _I_ don't approve of what _you_ organized, so where does that leave us?" He's looking at Mal, searching his eyes, and Angel knows this a moment that's going to define things for them, one way or the other.

Gently, his voice rough, Mal says, "With you in one piece. That's my job, keeping you safe. Because you're mine. Uh, my crew."

And Simon breathes in shakily and, finally, nods.

In the doorway, Shepherd Book clears his throat. "Is everything all right? Is there anything I can do?"

"Everything's fine." Simon blinks and frowns, thinking about something. "Liam," he says softly, "is any of the folklore about vampires true?"

"Most of it," Angel says. "Why?"

"Holy water?" Simon asks.

Angel nods, feeling mostly confused, then looks at Book as realization dawns. "Oh! Right. Good idea," he tells Simon, and starts considering how they're going to get the upper hand and take back Serenity.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Doesn't take much convincing to get Inara to stay in her shuttle. In fact, it's so easy Spike wonders if he ought to figure out a way to lock her in from the outside, just in case she's planning something. But he's more worried about what Dru's got planned.

He finds her and her female lover in the room that's labeled Kaylee's. Door's open and he can here them below. "Drusilla," he says, drawing out her name like notes of music, and goes down the ladder.

Dru is sitting on the bunk, and her lover, the blonde vamp with deep brown eyes, is kneeling beside it, between Dru's spread and naked thighs, licking her sweet cunt with avid interest. Dru's eyes are closed, her lips parted in pleasure, but she opens them and looks at Spike.

"I've been waiting for you," she says. "Are you all better?"

"Better enough," Spike says gruffly as the blonde turns her head to look at him. "Give us a minute, pet, would you?"

The blonde glares at him, clearly angry at the thought of being replaced, but Dru kicks the vamp's shoulder with one bare foot, knocking her onto her arse. "Go back to the others," Dru tells her.

"But I --" the blonde starts, but subsides and leaves when Dru's eyes flash with anger.

"I've missed you so much," Dru pouts at Spike, running fingertips up her thigh provocatively. "Did you miss me?"

"More than you could possibly imagine." It's not a complete lie.

"Show me," Dru says.

He steps closer to her, takes her wrist in his grip and yanks her suddenly to her feet and kisses her as she laughs. She's wet when he gets his fingers up inside her, and she makes little mewling sounds against his lips as he works her to orgasm -- still an expert at riding this bicycle, isn't he. His cock is hard before she comes the first time, and even harder after the second.

"Spike," she gasps. "My sweet William."

Spike undoes his trousers and lifts her against the nearest wall so he can fuck her proper-like; she always did like to bite him when he was buried deep inside her, and he's hoping that hasn't changed. He can feel Inara's drug, just a faint tingle, burning in him, and if it will do what he thinks it might...

He thrusts hard, fondles her breasts. Dru shudders and cries out when she comes a third time, and that's the moment she bites his throat, drinking deep swallows of his poisoned blood even as he jerks his cock into her. She feels just as good as ever, slick and tight around him, her fingernails digging into his back through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"This good, love?" he asks, wanting a look in her eyes to see if she suspects anything yet, to see if it's working.

" _You're_ good," Dru says. "My good, good boy." And that phrase shoves Spike over the edge without any warning. He doesn't really enjoy it, which is rare for him, but he's too distracted trying to pay attention to if Dru will suddenly go unconscious or something.

He's at the point where he's thinking it hasn't worked when she freezes, eyes going wide.

"You're not a good boy at all," she says faintly. "You've been naughty." And then she goes limp.

Doesn't turn to dust, though.

Spike lowers her to the floor, already tucking himself away before he goes up the ladder and into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. No way to lock it from the outside that he can see -- hopefully she'll be unconscious long enough for him to sort out what to do with her.

He knows he should stake her while he has the chance, but the thought of it turns his stomach and he tells himself he's got to make sure Simon and the others are safe first.

Seems like a good idea to sneak in on them -- only trouble is, there's two ways in and out and even if they haven't realized he's missing yet both ways will still be guarded. Spike's still trying to suss out what to do next when he hears what's absolutely some kind of fight, and that's when he starts running without even thinking about it.

The smell of blood's in the air and he's not sure whose it is, and his boots are pounding on the metal walkway, the sound of it echoing in his ears and making his head ache, but when he rounds the corner and thunders down the stairs into the middle of the fight, none of it matters anymore. There's nothing that makes him feel more alive than a good fight -- it won't matter how many centuries pass, he still likes the rush and crunch.

As he leaps onto the back of the biggest of Dru's vamps, the one wearing the long brown coat, Spike lets out a roar. The vamp had been focusing on Jayne, who doesn't even have the sense to pick up a piece of the splintered chair on the floor and use it as a stake. _Hm_ , Spike thinks. _Should have mentioned how to kill vamps, maybe_. On the other hand, that would have been giving Serenity's crew ammunition against him and Angel.

"Will, get down!" It's Book who's shouting it, and Spike jumps backward, staggering, as Book throws an arch of water into brown-coat's face and the vamp shouts in agony. Brown-coat falls to his knees, clawing at his eyes -- in his flailing, a droplet flies onto the back of Spike's hand and he feels the familiar burn of holy water.

A few yards away, Angel's in game face and fighting with two of Dru's other vamps. Spike briefly considers joining him, then sees Wash raising a stool up over the head of another, one who's just hit Zoe, and figures he'd better focus his attention elsewhere. In the back of his mind, there's a running count of opponents -- _one writhing on the floor, two with Angel, one here with Zoe and Wash_ \-- he bends, picks up a splinter of wood, stakes the vamp while it's still staggering from being hit with Wash's stool. Where's the fifth one? There were five before, not counting Dru's little sex kitten, who could be anywhere.

There's a sound from off to the right; Spike whips around to see vamp number five's got Kaylee by the throat.

"Let her go," Mal says. Fuck, he's pale as hell and there's a bandage on the side of his neck to go with the dark circles under his eyes. "Come on, now."

"Why?" Five tightens his hand on Kaylee's neck and she makes another of those high-pitched squeaks of terror. Spike knows there's no chance he can get to her before Five kills her, not if that's the intention. "Why should I?"

"Because what's left of your unlife if you don't is going to be bloody miserable," Spike says. "Not to mention short."

Five laughs and nods. "You think you can take me?"

"Straight to hell," Spike says, in that moment as serious as he's been in a hundred years.

"Let's do it," Five says, and shoves Kaylee roughly toward Mal, who just barely manages to catch her. Spike is poised on the verge of leaping forward when River, moving faster than a human ought to, swirls in like a dancer and cuts off Five's head with one violent but strangely graceful slash of the knife -- where the bloody hell did she get a knife? -- she's holding. There's a *woof* and a cloud of dust.

"Keep cutting 'til you see dust," River says solemnly to Spike. Her eyes are gleaming with more than a hint of madness, like an echo. "Only way to be sure." Then she hands him the knife and turns away just like nothing happened.

Spike's pretty sure he's the only one who even saw it.

Angel's beside him suddenly, wiping blood from a split eyebrow. "Everything under control here?"

Looking up from the knife in his hand, Spike nods. "Seems that way."

Mal's got Kaylee on her own pins again, and Dru's blonde tart is the only vampire left from what Spike can see -- Jayne's got a stake held against her chest. Too bad he's not bright enough to realize it's the dull end.

"Um," Wash says to him, gesturing, "I think maybe the pointy end might be better," and Blondie rolls her eyes as Jayne blinks and frowns, then turns the stake around.

"You took care of Dru?" Angel asks.

"Right," Spike says. "About that..."

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


It's better to dust the blonde vampire right away and get it over with, but Angel takes her down the hallway before he does it because he isn't sure how it'll make Mal and the others look at him if they've seen it. It's one thing when fighting and another entirely when it's a prisoner of war, and they probably know that better than he does. Angel knows he's not smart, but there are times when he lets his instincts take over that he almost fools himself.

"Come on," he says when it's done. "Show me where."

Spike goes on and on about the fight while they're going to where he left Dru, punctuating the conversation with illustrative jabs of his fists.

"You're feeling better," Angel says dryly, even though he knows exactly why Spike needs to let off steam.

"Yeah, well... good fight, get the blood pumping..." Spike slows and stops outside the door that's labeled Kaylee's in brightly colored paint, embellish with flowers.

"Our blood doesn't pump," Angel points out, and cautiously opens the door. There's no sound from the room below, so he goes down the ladder.

Dru is laid carefully on the floor, blood staining her lips. Like this, in her human face, she looks as innocent as she did the first time Angel saw her. Had he been able to see, even then, the darkness that hid just underneath her surface? Maybe it hadn't been there at all, and he just tried to tell himself otherwise to lessen his guilt.

Not that much did that.

"Shut the door," he says as they step inside, and as Spike does he tightens his hand around the splintered stake he's holding. It seems appropriate, somehow, that it's going to be a bit of Serenity's furniture that ends Dru, what with how they just came halfway across the 'verse in the ship.

Spike clears his throat and when Angel looks at him his eyes are bright. "Angel..."

"I'm doing it," Angel says, more harshly than he meant to. "She was -- mine. My responsibility. I'm the one that brought her here, so it's my job to send her back. Should have done it a long time ago."

Shaking his head, Spike says, "She's not _just_ yours."

" _I'm doing it_ ," Angel says again. His jaw hurts from how hard he's clenching his teeth, and when he gets down on his knees beside Dru they hurt, too.

God, she's so beautiful. He watches her lovingly, runs a hand down over her shoulder and along her arm. "I'm sorry," he says softly as his eyes blur with tears. This is the right thing to do, and he knows it, but like lots of things that doesn't make it any easier. "I'm so sorry. This -- this was all my fault. But I'm ready to let you go now."

Angel sets the tip of the stake over Dru's heart. His hand is trembling and he can't see and he counts silently to three in his head twice but still can't bring himself to do it.

He looks up when he feels Spike's fingers wrap around his own; Spike is kneeling on Dru's other side, the expression on his face resolute and his grip on Angel's hand firm, resolute. "Come on," Spike says. "Let's get this over with. On three, yeah?"

Angel's mouth twists into something nothing like a real smile, and he nods. Spike does the counting, out loud, and when Angel still hesitates after "one" tightens his hand and shoves, taking Angel along for the ride. It isn't until the last fraction of a second that he's able to put any of his own force into the movement, and that's the moment when Dru's heart is pierced and she goes to dust.

"Ashes to ashes," Spike mutters, and lets go of the stake like it burned him, wiping his hand on his trousers.

"Amen," Angel whispers.

For what feels like a long time, they both kneel there. Angel isn't thinking about anything in particular -- maybe he isn't thinking about anything at all. He definitely can't _feel_ anything. He's just numb.

"Hey," Spike says finally, and Angel lifts his eyes to look at him again, feeling slow and stupid. "Give me that."

He looks down again, at his hand, which is clenched so tightly around the stake he's holding that it's little more than so many splinters. He watches as Spike reaches over and gently uncurls his fingers, then brushes the slivers of wood off his palm so they mingle with Dru's dust on the floor. Eyes stinging, Angel opens his mouth to say something -- he's not sure what -- but nothing comes out.

"C'mere," Spike says gruffly. He gets to his feet and tugs at Angel's wrist until he does, too. Then he pulls Angel out into the hallway and, while Angel is still standing there blankly, puts both arms around him and holds on.

Angel fights it, because that's who he is, and because it's Spike, but Spike is stubborn and doesn't let go, and after a minute Angel sighs and stops fighting. He doesn't return the -- he decides it's best not to think of it as a hug, since he and Spike don't hug -- whatever it is, he doesn't tighten his arms around Spike. But he stands there and doesn't move away.

"S'all right." One of Spike's hands is on the back of Angel's shoulder; it gives him a tentative little pat. "Had to be done, didn't it? At least now it's over with."

Giving a bark of laughter, Angel does step away then, knuckling angrily at the moisture lingering under his eyes. "That's the problem, isn't it? What the hell are we supposed to do now?" They've been following Dru around the 'verse off and on for a few hundred years, the two of them together because of a common goal, or at least that's what Angel's been telling himself.

Now that part of it's over, and he doesn't know what comes next. He doesn't know what to do when there isn't a job to focus on. It's been too long, and he's tired. Part of him wants to just settle down somewhere, hole up, call it quits.

"We can do whatever we want," Spike says.

"What if we don't know what we want?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Angel, get over it, would you? Why do you have to turn everything into a bloody black hole of despair?" Spike throws his arms up in exasperation. "You stay here and sulk about how you've got nothing else to live for -- I'm going to tell the rest of them that they can relax." And he stalks off.

After a few seconds, Angel follows him.

By the time he joins them, the conversation is already in mid-stream.

"She's dead?" Kaylee's asking.

"Technically, she was already dead," Simon points out.

Spike huffs out air and says, "Either way, she's gone. They're all gone. So you're free to go on with your lives as usual."

"I'm gonna look for Inara," Kaylee says, and heads in the direction of Inara's shuttle.

Mal is still leaning, currently half on the doorway to the infirmary and half on Simon, and he still looks like hell, but Angel figures that's a small price to pay in exchange for all their lives, and he's pretty sure Mal knows it, too. "Well," Mal says. "Good."

"Good?" Wash gives the captain a disbelieving look. "Is that the best you can do?"

Zoe grabs onto her husband's upper arm and tugs him toward the cockpit. "Come along, dear. Let's make sure the ship hasn't suffered any damage."

"How could it be damaged?" Wash asks, but relents and goes off with his wife willingly enough.

"What about everyone else?" Simon props Mal more firmly against the door frame and holds his hands out. "Is anyone hurt?"

"I'm all right," Jayne says. He's good and beat up by the looks of it, but Angel knows he's had a hell of a lot worse. This probably seems like nothing to a guy like Jayne. The thought makes Angel like him a little bit more. "Think I'll go clean up."

"If no one needs me, I think I'll do the same." Shepherd Book has a small scrape on his cheekbone but no other visible wounds. "See everyone at dinner?"

When Jayne and Book had gone, that left River, Simon and Mal. Spike's watching River with a funny expression, like he's trying to figure her out. Probably not much chance of that, though on the other hand Spike always seemed to understand Dru... which was more than enough of that line of thinking.

"You should be resting," Simon tells Spike. "You had brain surgery a few hours ago, in case you've forgotten. And so should you." He points at Angel. "You were shot. And you," to Mal, "have a concussion, not to mention not-insignificant blood loss. Do I need to worry about infection?"

It takes Angel a few seconds to realize Simon's talking about the bite mark. "No."

"Thank the 'verse for small favors." Simon turns to glare at Mal. "I guess these two won't listen to me, but I expect you to. Go lie down. Now."

And surprisingly, Mal seems inclined to obey.

"Could use a bit of a rest myself," Spike says, wavering on his feet.

Angel gets a hand under Spike's elbow and grins tightly. This, at least, he knows how to do. He's been doing this forever.

"It isn't over," River says suddenly, softly, the words pitched for Angel and Spike's ears alone.

"What's not?" Spike says.

The girl's eyes are wide and knowing, and she looks right at Angel. "Your journey. You think it's finished -- time to run, time to hide, find a place where you can't hurt anymore. But you won't. You should stay with the ship. She'll give you all the sky you need."

"Is that supposed to make sense?" Angel asks Spike.

Spike is studying River's face. "Sounds right enough to me."

"It is right," River says. "Righteous. Like you." And she drifts away like she always does, leaving Angel blinking and feeling like he's been kicked in the stomach.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Later, Angel slips off on his own and goes down to the cargo bay, where he's got a couple of bottles of very expensive liquor stashed away. He figures he owes Mal for the blood, even if it _was_ used to keep them all alive. It's the first time he's deliberately gone to one of their rooms, and he stands outside Mal's door with the neck of the bottle cool in his hand, not sure if he should knock or what. Finally, he does, and a moment later Mal's voice, irritated, says, "What?"

"Um, it's me. Angel. Liam. I -- brought you something." He feels stupid, talking to the door.

Mal sighs. No one but a vampire would be able to hear it. "Fine," he says. "Come in."

The door swings in to open, and Angel goes down the ladder one-handed so he doesn't risk breaking the liquor bottle. It's one he's been hoarding for five years or more, and he'll be damned if he wrecks it now.

"I brought you this," he says, offering the bottle to Mal, who eyes it for a few seconds before reaching out his hand and accepting it.

"Well." It wasn't like Angel had expected Mal to thank him, but Mal seems to be considering it. Finally, though, he just says, "Have a drink?" and Angel nods.

Mal finds a couple of glasses and pours generous measures for each of them. Maybe _too_ generous, considering he's recovering from a concussion and some blood loss. Angel has more sense than to say that out loud, though -- he just takes the glass and drinks, feeling the mellow burn all the way down and wishing he could really appreciate the taste of it.

Lifting his own glass, Mal swallows and then chokes. He coughs half a dozen times, rubs the back of his hand across his mouth, and croaks, "Good stuff."

Angel smiles. "Yeah, it is." He shouldn't stay here, he thinks, so he drains the glass and sets it down. "Thanks," he says. "I mean, you said you'd bring us here, and you did."

"Don't thank me," Mal says. "You paid for the privelege." He coughs a little more, takes another sip. "Can't say you didn't liven the trip up some."

That's probably a compliment, Angel thinks as he goes to find Spike.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


"Christ, would you hurry up already?" Spike says, impatient like always, and Angel gives him what he wants and shoves his cock into him.

"There," he says through clenched teeth. "That what you wanted?"

Spike groans and arches underneath him, the slick tip of his cock seeking contact with something other than air. "Yeah, you ponce. That's what I want --" He gasps when Angel thrusts into him again.

This is one of the things Angel likes best about fucking Spike -- taking him past the point where he can find words into one where he can't do anything but groan. It doesn't hurt that it feels _fantastic_ , or that he can do whatever feels good because he knows Spike can take anything, no matter how rough. He pulls back until just the tip of him's inside Spike, then slides back in slowly, grinning as Spike writhes and curses.

"Bastard," Spike growls. "Give me a hand, at least."

"A hand with what?" Angel asks, feigning innocence and finding a rhythm just shy of making his balls ache with the need to come. He already ordered Spike not to touch himself, which always makes Spike unbearably frustrated, and that's always extra fun in Angel's book.

Maybe, if they spend enough time fucking, he won't have to think about the meaningless eternity stretched out in front of them. Spike might not be smart enough to understand how bleak the future is, but Angel is, and the thought is profoundly depressing.

Fucking, on the other hand, is a pleasant distraction.

"Angel," Spike grunts. His hands are clenching the edges of the mattress with what looks like enough force to tear it -- not that it would matter if he did, since they're not going to be on the ship much longer -- and his cock is slick at the tip, red and heavy with borrowed blood. Kaylee's blood. Strangely, that thought makes Angel's own cock give an eager throb, and he thrusts a little bit harder.

"You're such a slut," Angel tells him. "Begging for it."

Spike shudders and clenches his teeth, chin jutting forward. "Want me to beg, is that it? All you had to do was ask." He moans when Angel stops moving, hips shifting restlessly. "Please, Angel. Give it to me."

"Never happy unless someone's giving you a good fucking," Angel says, grinning, and proceeds to do so, until Spike is wordless and coming without a single touch to his cock, his ass tightening in waves around Angel. Angel keeps fucking him through it, waiting until Spike is limp and glassy-eyed before letting himself come, too. God, it feels good, and he thinks maybe eternity might not be so bad if he could just stay inside Spike forever, resting for a few minutes between rounds.

"Feeling better?" Spike asks as they start to get dressed. They're due for supper in Serenity's dining area -- were due a few minutes ago, actually -- and since this is probably the last night they'll be on the ship, it seems like they ought to make an appearance.

For the sake of the crew.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


They all look bloody beautiful with the light of the flickering candles playing off their faces, Spike thinks. It surprises him how fond he's become of all of them in the time he and Angel have been on Serenity -- been a long time since he was in one place long enough to remember what it feels like to get emotionally attached to people. Other than Angel, and he's a different story, of course.

"Bet he wanted to keep you forever," Kaylee says wistfully, chin propped in one little hand and her eyes glowing as she gazes at Inara. "Just like all of them."

"Not all of them," Inara says. Her hair is loose, curls falling around her face. She might be blushing slightly -- not as cool as she hopes to be, Spike suspects, and the way she's looking back at Kaylee seems to indicate they're both more than a little enamored. Sweet. And imagining the two of them together, soft womanly hips and breasts...

Angel kicks Spike under the table, and Spike jumps and glares at him. Angel glares back.

"So what are you two going to do after this?" Wash asks. "I mean, I realize that if you live forever -- no, no, I know, it's not technically living, but I don't know what else I'm supposed to call it --" This is directed at Simon, who was about to protest. Funny how a doctor is so concerned about the accuracy of language. "Anyway, if you _have_ forever, you can do pretty much anything you want. All the time to do whatever people of leisure do. Not that I'd know what that is."

"Leisure requires money, dear," Zoe points out, setting down her fork.

"Right, right." Wash frowns thoughtfully. "Where _do_ you get your money? Is it a family thing?"

"Best not to talk about money or politics," Shepherd Book says.

Inara favors him with a gentle smile. "Or religion."

Book smiles back at her. "Or religion."

"Or war," Mal adds. He's wearing a goofy grin that Spike thinks might be the result of a stolen drink before dinner. Stolen because there's no way Simon would have agreed to Mal drinking on top of a concussion, and it's clear by the funny look Simon's giving him that Simon suspects it too.

"I... think that falls under politics," Book says.

"Nope," Mal says. "Politics falls under war. Because you can have politics without war, but you can't have war without politics." He frowns. "I think."

"Captain!" Kaylee says, turning her attention to him. "Are you drunk?"

"Yes," Mal says. "No! Oh wait, yes. But it was an accident."

"You tripped and fell, and while you were lying on the floor someone came along and poured a few drinks down your throat?" Simon asks dryly.

"No! I just had a little bit of a headache --" Mal says.

Simon rolls his eyes. "I can't imagine why."

"-- and I thought a drink might make it go away."

"Someone's living in a fantasy world." Zoe smirks.

"I can't be drunk," Mal says. "I only had _one_ drink. One little, tiny drink." He holds his fingers an inch apart to illustrate how small his drink was, then frowns at them and moves them a little bit farther apart. "So how could I be drunk?"

"Your blood volume was reduced by approximately an eighth a few hours ago," Simon tells him. "That intensifies the effects of the alcohol."

"Right," Mal says. He and Simon are sitting next to each other -- the first time that's happened from what Spike can remember -- and he pats Simon's cheek affectionately. "You're so smart. He's so smart! We're lucky to have such a smart doctor on our crew."

Simon looks caught between horrified and amused, and Zoe says, "Definitely drunk."

"I don't know," Angel says, leaning back in his chair. "I kind of like him like this."

"I'll bet you do," Mal says. He eyes Angel with an open interest Spike's never seen on his face before.

"Okay, that's enough of this." Simon stands up and hauls Mal to his feet; River is watching with a wide grin like this is a show being put on just for her entertainment. "Come on, Captain -- time for you to go to bed."

"I'll just bet you'd like to get me into bed," Mal says, slinging an arm around Simon's neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He goes wide-eyed, realizing what he's done and where, and puts a hand to his mouth. "Uh-oh. Just gave away the secret, didn't I?"

"And you're the one who's going to be pissed off about it in the morning," Simon tells him.

Jayne looks confused. "There's a secret?"

"Not anymore," River says, pleased as a cat with a bowl of cream. When Simon looks at her, she says, "It's all right, Simon. I knew."

"And now everybody knows." Mal blinks, remembering something, and points a finger at Spike. "You keep your hands off him, dong ma? I don't share."

Spike holds up both hands, innocent. "Gotcha. No touching." Angel's looking at him sternly, and Spike feels strangely warmed by the possessiveness on his face.

"And that goes for the rest of you, too," Mal says, gesturing at his crew sitting around the table. "And I don't want to hear no comments, neither. What I do with my personal time's nobody's business but the Doc's."

"Comments about what?" Jayne looks so confused Spike can't keep from snickering. "I'm gettin' the feeling I'm missing something here."

"Captain and the Doc are shagging," Spike tells him helpfully, only it's not because Jayne obviously doesn't understand that, either. Sighing, Spike says, "Oh, for fuck's sake. They're _sly_."

That's a word Jayne knows, at least. He looks startled, then horrified, then strangely pleased, then embarrassed. It's like watching a carnival of emotions. "I'll be in my bunk," he says finally, and beats a hasty retreat.

No one else seems to know what to say. Inara seems both unsurprised and approving, and Kaylee is smiling widely.

"Simon," she says. "I never woulda thought it."

"Him?" Mal sounds aggrieved. "What about me?"

"Oh, I never would have thought it about you, either, Cap'n," Kaylee says earnestly. "It's just... _Simon_. I was starting to think he was, you know." She makes an apologetic face and whispers, "Sexless."

Simon flushes and stammers, uselessly trying to find words; Mal laughs and tightens his arm around Simon's neck, pulling him in closer and pressing a kiss to his temple. "I can assure you he ain't that, darlin'," Mal drawls, and Simon's flush deepens. "Now, if none of the rest of you have a need for us, we're callin' it a night."

They leave, with Simon supporting some of Mal's weight, and after a moment or two of silence, Wash says, "Well. That was different."

"Or not so different," Inara says. "It's been going on for some time. I'm glad."

"Not as glad as Jayne is thinking about it," Kaylee says, smirking.

"I'm glad for _them_ ," Inara clarifies. "No one should be alone, not if they don't want to be." She gives Spike a meaningful look and he raises his eyebrows.

"Who, me? I'm not alone. Be in this one's bed five times a day if he had his way." Spike gestures at Angel, glances at him in time to see Angel's expression of shock and fury, and laughs as he bolts from the room and up the nearest flight of stairs, the echoes of his boot steps finding their way into the farthest corners of Serenity.

  


* ~ * ~ *

  


Everyone gathers the next morning in the cargo bay to say goodbye. Except for Kaylee, they all act like they think it's unnecessary, but since Mal's the king of deliberate disinterest there's no chance he ordered them to show up. Besides, even setting that aside, Spike knows better. Last night proved it.

"I can't believe you're staying here," Kaylee says, looking around. In the daylight, or what passes for it, the place looks pretty bleak. Even Angel's got to see it.

"Hey, benefits to everywhere," Spike says, since Angel's standing there not saying anything at all. "Don't underestimate the ability to go outside in the daytime without bursting into flames." Not that there'll be any reason to go outside. They'll probably hole up in a little cabin or something and stay there for a hundred years if he leaves it up to Angel.

"Right." Simon looks and sounds unconvinced and maybe even a little unhappy. He's standing close to Mal, though, and Mal seems all right with it, which probably means things between them are good.

At least, Spike thinks, their time on Serenity is ending positively.

Doesn't make him feel the way it should, but it's something.

"Come on, then," he says to Angel.

But Angel, bless him, is looking conflicted. Not a lot, maybe not even enough that anyone but Spike could see it, but a little bit. "Yeah," he says. "Well." He doesn't seem to want to say goodbye, and is probably thinking anything else would be a lie. Stupid ponce, always worried about being the hero.

And it's that thought that lights up in Spike's head, the answer he's been trying to come up with since Dru went to dust. He leads Angel a few yards down the ramp. "You know," he says, pitching his voice for Angel's ears only, "it's a good thing we're getting while the gettin' good."

Angel frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You've seen the kinds of trouble this lot gets into." Spike jerks his thumb in the crew's direction. "Pull us down with them, wouldn't they? Don't know about you, but I'm not too keen on the idea of ending up drifting in space or tore up by Reavers."

"You're right," Angel says slowly. "I don't know why I didn't see it before. We can't just let them go off on their own. They're gonna get themselves killed."

"I say let 'em." Hoping he's pulling this off, Spike tries to sound as casual as possible. "Not our problem, is it? We deserve some down time after all these years."

Angel rolls his eyes, turns, and heads back up the ramp toward Mal. "So," he says. "Um." Funny how he can go from utterly sure of himself and in control to uncertain in the blink of an eye. "We were thinking. Maybe -- you know, maybe you could use our help. On the ship."

"They _are_ pretty strong," Jayne says. "Don't know much about weapons, though."

Zoe shrugs. "They could learn."

River slips between her brother and Mal and touches Mal's shoulder. "They don't have anywhere else to go," she says.

"Are we voting?" Wash asks. "Because I vote yes."

"We're not voting," Mal says.

"I vote yes, too." Simon is grinning.

"There's _no voting_ ," Mal repeats. "My ship, my decision." Everyone waits, and Mal sighs and throws up his hands. "Fine. Yes, they can stay. As long as they pull their weight."

"We will," Angel says. "More than."

"And you have to share quarters," Mal adds. "If'n you're crew, you get treated like it -- no special perks."

"Sounds all right," Spike says grudgingly, and hides his smile as he follows the rest of them through the cargo bay toward the stairs and, ultimately, the sky.

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Chinese translations:  
>  _ Qing wa cao de liu mang - frog-humping son of a bitch_  
>  _ go se - crap, shit_  
>  _ ching soh - ruthless or savage beast of a person_  
>  _ guai - hell_  
>  Many thanks to Bethynyc for help and ideas, to Dswdiane for betas and cheerleading,  
> and to Maybedarkpink (apparently no longer on LJ) for sparking the original idea.  
> Thanks to Aryas_zehral for help finding a screencap, and to everyone who commented  
> when the earlier parts of this were a WIP that I despaired of ever finishing.  
> Lastly, bonus thanks to Lynnenne and Kita for creating the [Grazie Prego Kiss Kiss](http://community.livejournal.com/grazieprego) LJ Spangel Celebration,  
> without which this story might never have been completed.
> 
> [You can leave feedback in the Grazie Prego Kiss Kiss community journal](http://community.livejournal.com/grazieprego/10104.html?mode=reply) or check out the rest of the stories there!


End file.
